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VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 



VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 



The Campaign of a French Cruiser 



BY 

RENE MILAN 

Translated by 

RANDOLPH BOURNE 




New York 
E. P. BUTTON & COMPANY 

681 Fifth Avenue 






COPTBIQHT, 1919 

By E. p. button & COMPANY 



AU Rights Reserved 



Printed in the United States of America 



©CI.A525480 
MAY 14 19/9 



/t^^ o \ 



CONTENTS 



PART I 

The Awakening of the Cruiser ... 1 

PART II 

In the Adriatic Sea 17 

PART III 

In the Ionian Sea 144 



VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 



PAET I 

THE AWAKENING OF THE CRUISER 

From Paris to Toulon, end of July, 1914, 

FROM the corridor I watch through the win- 
dows the swift receding of Paris. In this 
express-train, the last to run according to 
the normal schedule, are numerous naval officers 
en route for Toulon. Some have broken their 
brief vacations ; almost all are returning on leaves 
of absence from their studies. The call of our 
country sends us towards the sea, that field of 
battle which we have chosen. To the French 
Navy belongs the ** honor ^' of the Mediterranean, 
and our fleet is at its summit of preparedness. We 
know that the decisive duel will be fought in the 
fields of Flanders or on the slopes of the Vosges. 
But our effort will not be useless. We have only 
one fear — that we shall arrive too late, and miss 
that battle which our iinaginations have pictured 
without actually believing. 

Dijon, Lyons, Valence, Marseilles. I have just 
left a Paris full of excitement, where life is of so 
poignant a sweetness that the people are eager 
to defend the happiness they possess in such 
abundance. I am traveling through our smiling 



2 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

France. How many times, as I have passed 
from one seaport to another, on my way from a 
Chinese to an Atlantic cruise, have I not under- 
stood the envy which is directed towards her! 
How could our neighbors help casting towards 
this delightful land the glances of beasts of prey ! 
Now they have spread out their claws, and 
hurled at her a cry of war. France has drawn 
herself erect. Ever^^vhere squads of sentinels 
are guarding the roadways, the crossings, the sta- 
tions, all the nerve-centers of mobilization. Into 
the eyes of the French people these last few days 
has come a magnificent expression; a new 
visage, which our race has put on as if for a fete, 
gives a family likeness to all its members. The 
foster-mother of children like these is no mori- 
bund being such as the Germans think they will 
succeed in doing away with. She has just felt 
again the vivid sense of her duty, and the heirs 
of her wonderful past draw from her strength 
attitudes so natural that they are not even aston- 
ished at them. This astonishment they leave to 
the rest of the world. 

Dijon, Lyons, Valence, Marseilles, Naguere. I 
amuse myself with observing the various types 
and accents of the provinces. To-day everyone 
speaks the same language, has the same expres- 
sion; in every breast is the same heart. I know 
that in the West, in the regions I have not 
traveled through, Gascons, Normans, and Picards 



THE AWAKENING OF THE CRUISER 3 

are feeling and acting alike. Among these troops 
assembled on the platforms of the stations, in 
the sleeping cottages of remote countrysides, in 
the towns past which glides our flashing train, 
there is only one dream. This dream I know, for 
it is my own : 

'*What post does France give me for the great 
combat? Wherever it may be, w^hether I fall, or 
whether I survive, it will be well." 

Toulon, 1 August. 

Alas! Several hours have passed, and I find 
that all is not well. The vessels of the ** naval 
army'' have their staffs of officers completed, and 
from hour to hour await the order to put to sea. 
I was assigned to the Waldech-Rousseau. At an- 
other time I should have been proud to be a part 
of this splendid vessel. But she is not prepared 
to leave port. In an accident at sea some months 
ago, she ripped herself open on the shoals of the 
Gulf of Juan. The healing of great ships is a 
tedious affair, and in a repair basin the engineers 
are still treating her gaping wounds. In reply to 
my anxious questions, I am told : 

**The workmen are busy on her day and night. 
In six weeks she will take the water again." 

Six weeks! And the other night on the train 
I saw myself already at sea, my vessel en route 
for her assigned zone. And now I must be satis- 
fied with a cruiser that will not stir for six weeks ! 



4 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

2 August. 

We lived in an atmosphere heated by the sun 
of Provence. Arriving from Paris as I did, I 
was questioned. Circles formed, strangers con- 
sulted me. In vain did I relate what I had seen 
in the North, describe my journey on the railway ; 
these listeners only half believed me. In the 
climate of Provence care disappears; my ques- 
tioners shook their heads. One regretted his 
ruined vacation ; another doubted my testimony ; 
some of them invoked the prudence of the Powers, 
and concluded: 

** Everything will end in a * Congress of Al- 
geciras.* " 

Far removed from the vivid Parisian energy, 
I felt myself overcome by the enervation of 
Provence. The whole drama of the week took 
on the guise of nightmare. I was annoyed that 
the great convulsion, ordered by Fate, seemed 
once more delayed by man. I reproached my 
prudent friends for not taking their part in it. 
Before them the curtain of an epic drama was 
already rising, and they were not hailing with 
enthusiastic acclaim the opening of the spectacle. 
Their mediocre souls were merely taking up again 
the thread of their daily preoccupations I 

Towards two o'clock I cross the threshold of 
the arsenal gate, to pay the WaldecJc-Roiisseau 
my visit of embarkation. The sky is pouring 



THE AWAKENING OF THE CRUISER 5 

down an avalanche of dusty heat. In such an 
oven no one can think vigorously. Sprawled 
against the walls, the arsenal workers are mop- 
ping their faces and chests, and, at the end of 
their tether, are drinking greedily at the road- 
side bars. Several officers, handkerchiefs in hand, 
are walking along the rows of plane-trees. 

The commander of the Waldeck-Rousseau re- 
ceives me: 

**You are in luck,'' he says. **A11 the officers 
who arrive at the port ask for the Waldeck- 
Rousseau/' 

He guesses the question I dare not utter. 

* ^ The engineers are counting on six weeks. . . . 
Let us hope nothing decisive happens at sea . . . 
in case events are so precipitate. ..." 

Thinking over these words, I return to the gate 
of the arsenal. It is getting on towards five 
o'clock. The flame and shimmer of the afternoon 
light are marvelous. The Pharon, a mirror of 
stone, reflects the dazzling violet rays. It is the 
hottest part of the day. After this will follow 
cooling breezes. In front of the Missiessy gate 
mothers and wives crouch on the sidewalk, await- 
ing their sailors, who come out of the arsenal 
raising clouds of dust. A beverage-vender calls 
his wares in a nasal voice ; several barkers offer 
for ten centimes a hundred attractions in the way 
of cafe-concerts; the tramcars, caparisoned in 
dust, go by in a torrid blast. It is so warm, the 



6 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

boulevard is so torpid, that I cannot think, and 
have but one swift desire — to change my stifling 
uniform for a more comfortable suit, and on a 
terrace to sip some cooling drink. 

Suddenly, smothered by the distance and the 
heavy air, a dull cannon shot strikes into the 
fringe of my reverie. I fear I have heard amiss. 
I wait motionless, my whole body concentrated in 
my hearing. The boulevard seems petrified. 
With a brusque jamming on of brakes, the tram- 
cars grind along the track; the windows bristle 
with anxious faces. The women squatting on the 
sidewalk silently rise; barkers and passers-by 
forget to live; everyone, in the posture in which 
the vague shot has surprised him, listens to the 
dramatic silence. All the noises of the city, the 
deepest as well as the shrillest, vanish into noth- 
ingness to leave room for the one sound that has 
significance. In a sort of religious atmosphere 
the second shot booms and rolls, sonorous, the 
master of Space. ... At length the third dies 
away, the third voice of a France who is placing 
herself on guard. 

At the same time, over the deserted roadway, 
the trumpets sound from the barracks. Listen to 
those majestic singing tones, v/hich bring tears to 
the driest eyelids! It is the call of France! 
Drawn up under the great trees a whole wan city 
salutes two little soldiers who swell their cheeks 
upon the shining trumpets. They are much 



THE AWAKENING OF THE CRUISER 7 

affected, these two little soldiers in fatigue uni- 
form; their step is hesitant, and their breath 
breaks. But their eyes are sparkling, each 
measure brings new vigor to their step, they find 
the theme again, and without taking breath they 
sound the ^^generale'' out to the suburbs, to the 
slopes of the Pharon, to the roads of the country- 
side roundabout. They are the heralds of their 
country. 

At this instant all over this land the same 
trumpet is being blown. It has found me in a 
warm and fragrant province, but everywhere 
millions of reapers, mth suspended sickles, are 
listening to the same notes flung out over oceans 
of grain. Mountains and valleys give back its 
echo to the huts of cattlemen and shepherds, and 
the silent waters of the rivers quiver as they 
receive its melody. For the first time in the 
course of the centuries the race of France is 
listening at the same instant to a voice which 
orders her to face towards a common point. 
Stirred by a great hope, her hearts are celebrating 
together this first communion of heroism. 

Fortune compels me to wait six weeks before 
playing my role. My weapon of war is not yet 
ready. I can only admire, as a spectator, deeds 
in which I have no share. 

In the streets leading to the harbor, the heart 
of Toulon, swarm crowds of people. I am not 
acquainted with these figures that slip along be- 



8 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

side me, but I recognize them all. Marines from 
Brittany, blue-eyed, with swinging step, white- 
coiifed wives on their arms ; sailors of Provence, 
brown and eloquent; thick-set Basques and fair 
Flemings — all these men whom I have com- 
manded, managed, loved, hasten along their way. 
A kind of enchantment dilates their e^^es, a sort 
of innocent ecstasy. They go gaily towards the 
sea and the combat, towards their constant mis- 
tress and their unknown bride. Already the 
squadrons have steam up ; a forest of stacks vomit 
streamers of smoke which portend adventurous 
cruises. They get under weigh to-night ; perhaps 
to-morrow the great adventure will occur. The 
sides of the ironclads and cruisers in the road- 
stead let loose a flock of boats and launches to 
seek on the quay their loads of brave marines. 

Around the approaches to the wharves it is im- 
possible to move. There is a suppressed shuffling 
of feet ; only jackets and uniforms can get through 
to the boats. I slip in. On the sidewalk a Breton 
woman is weeping softly into the corner of her 
apron; her four little children, lost in the forest 
of legs, press round her skirt, clutching the cloth 
with their fingers; heads turned upward, they 
watch through great limpid eyes the endless flow 
of people. Each step reveals a similar scene; 
women clasp for the last time their beloved son, 
lover, or husband; their frail arms cannot let him 



THE AWAKENING OF THE CRUISER 9 

go, and their tong^ies are stammering inexpres- 
sible things. Yet, as I listen, I hear in all this 
chorus of despair not a single word of revolt. 
These women comprehend everything. They nod 
their heads approvingly at the words of those 
who are leaving them. Their last kiss holds even 
a smile, a heavenly smile, which the fighting man 
is to carry with him on the sea, and recall at 
the instant of death. But when the sailor has 
disappeared toward the boats, the smile slowly 
fades ; the women bite their lips, their faces grow 
distorted, and the tears, more -sublime for having 
been held back so long, trickle through lids which 
for many months will not cease to weep. 

As becomes naval tragedies, the farewell took 
place in a splendid setting. The twilight was 
glorious with an incomparable splendor of sky, 
and the purple evening seemed to vibrate in 
unison with the city. On the edge of the quay, 
between the boats and the crowd, I could watch 
the faces, both of those who had to stay behind, 
and of those who were leaving. As long as the 
sailors were forcing their Avay along between 
those parting embraces and the boats, they were 
pale beneath their tan, and only with difficulty 
restrained their sobs. But hardly had they 
jumped to the benches of the launches, hardly had 
theii comrades greeted them with hearty blows 
on shoulders and hips, when their color returned, 
their mouths let forth sonorous pleasantries, and 



10 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

they thought no more of anything but the sea and 
the adventure. 

At my feet hundreds of sailors are laughing 
and singing; they intoxicate themselves with an- 
ticipation in order not to betray their tenderness 
and their grief. On the quay, overshadowing this 
gayety, stands a forlorn crowd; those in front 
smile vaguely, but those behind are silently chok- 
ing back their tears. And over there in the gold- 
flaked roadstead, the gray ships sparkle in the 
setting sun. All faces turn towards them. They 
are the geniuses of the moment. Entrusted with 
a portion of the honor of France, they await their 
orders. Before their prows, the country has 
s\^^lng open the gates of glory. Their guns and 
their sailors are made of the same steel. 

3 August. 

In the morning I went with some friends to 
the top of Cape Capet to se^ the departure of 
the *^ naval army." 

On the Courhet, flagship of the commander-in- 
chief, the admirals had assembled in a night coun- 
cil of war. A few hours later, in the deep silence 
of the blue morning, the squadrons began to move. 
One after another, they took position and formed 
before our eyes; we heard the faint sound of 
orders. On the heavy water the ships moved with- 
out an eddy; squat, slender, or graceful, battle- 
ships, cruisers, or torpedo-boats fell into well- 



THE AWAKENING OF THE CEUISER 11 

ordered formations, and quietly took their proper 
distances and intervals. They reminded one of 
ancient gladiators .stripped naked for the combat. 
During these last days they had sent back to the 
land-stores all the superfluities of peace; they 
had kept only the bare necessities in rigging and 
boats, -and the paint on their steel -sides had dis- 
appeared uoider the hand of the scraper. 

Their only ornament is the curling smoke which 
rises through the still air and mingles -on high in 
an immense cloud modeled by the faint breeze. 
Their only paint is the light flashing on port-holes 
and brass. Their only finery, the guns, well- 
cleared, with mouths pointing out to -sea. They 
are beautiful and they are invincible. Designed 
for battle and the chase, they push their bows 
through the Avater they know so well, on their 
way to carry to enemy shores the frontier of 
France. At the hour when human beings are still 
asleep, they go to take possession of the field of 
battle. 

Their task is various and hard, and without 
any doubt destined to remain unappreciated. On 
the sea the paths are innumerable, and the legends 
of the sea tell of many a patient cruiser that 
has rarely been rewarded by a battle. 

The transports have to carry to France our 
troops from North Africa. To the ** naval army'' 
belongs the duty of protecting these lives. No 
one can tell whether or not this enterprise will 



12 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

be successful. Let a single transport fail the sum- 
mons, and a deluge of sarcasm will fall upon the 
fleet of war! Let «sharp-shooters and Algerian 
cavalry within fifteen days show their mettle in 
the valleys of the Vosges, and who will give thanks 
to those who had protected' their dangerous 
voyage 1 No matter ! France has distributed the 
tasks among her children. To the fighters on the 
frontier falls the honor of crushing the Germans ; 
to the sailors, the silent guard of the sea. 

Perhaps, however, these too will not be denied 
the glory of battle. At the foot of the Adriatic, 
Austria maintains a fleet that without doubt will 
try to rob us of our empire of the Mediterranean. 
To release her shores she will offer us a naval 
engagement. The fleet of France will prove it- 
self no less worthy than the army; and its deeds, 
less decisive than those of Alsace and of Flanders, 
will yet prove that the flag which flaps at the stern 
of her ships is without stain. 

Au Eevoir! 

Eve of departure, 5 September, 
The crew and staff of the Waldeck-Rousseaii 
are stirring to snatch a day, an hour, from the 
delay of her departure; already we have gained 
two weeks. 

Stretched on its granite rests, the cruiser 
resembles some metal giant harnessed with 
machinery. With a great pounding of hammers, 



THE AWAKENING OF THE CRUISER 13 

the cohorts of expert workmen are putting life 
into the great hull. Each day the Depot sends 
us marine reservists, with instructions as to the 
posts and offices where they are k> labor and to 
fight. A thousand men are assembled now, and 
the engineers have given the ship over to us. 

Shining and new she floats. Like a thorough- 
bred that after a sickness breaks her own record, 
the good cruiser has gained some tenths of a mile 
on her old speed. The steam runs freely in her 
arteries, the electricity through her nerves. From 
bow to stern a hundred and fifty meters of steel 
are aquiver. Off the Hyeres Islands, on a fine 
August day, the voice of her guns, so many months 
silenced, resounds again in celebration of her 
recovery. Woe to any one who passes within 
ten kilometers of our cannon ! 

From hour to hour, little by little, officers and 
men extend their control of the vessel, and get 
better acquainted with her mazes. As their skill 
becomes surer, they adapt themselves to the 
particular moods of the ship, and to her caprices, 
which can only be mastered with prudence and 
with affection. 

Our crew, an amorphous crowd collected at 
random from the four quarters of France, had 
lost that sense of discipline and responsibility 
which the humblest of sailors should have. We 
have had to drill them, direct their discordant 
forces, and make them a living being animated 



14 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

by a will. Each one in his place now applies his 
intelligence and his strength to his special task, 
and tries to get himself into trim. Time presses. 
In a few days Ave have put new life into the great 
torpid cruiser. After a few hours we shall depart, 
nor shall we cut the figure of poor relations or 
of cripples in the '^ naval army.'' 

Thank heaven, the decisive action has held off. 
We dread the telegram announcing an encounter 
of the fleets; but it has not yet come. Opening 
the chapter of Mediterranean events, the Breslau 
and the Go eh en, German cruiser.s, have attacked 
Algerian ports, and fled towards the Dardanelles, 
where a miracle has turned them into Turks. Here 
is game for a later time. In the middle of August 
the French navy has sunk the Zepta, a small Aus- 
trian cruiser. But that's a minor affair. We 
shall arrive in time. 

On certain evenings we go to sleep on land. 
Friend of those who frequent her, the sea is 
execrated by the women who live on her shores; 
their mourning i« harsh and bitter. War adds 
tenfold to their anxieties. Our comrades who left 
at the beginning of August suffered an uprooting 
that was short and sharp. We, who have re- 
mained too long, run the gamut of anxious con- 
cern. For those men from my cruiser who meet 
feminine affection on shore, each moment holds 
an unknown torture. Between a sob and a caress 



THE AWAKENING OF THE CRUISER 15 

passes the phantom of naval hecatombs. Beneath 
his lowered eyelids the sailor sees his future 
glory, but the arms clasped about his breast are 
an embrace of despair. A sunset, a walk between 
dusty hedges or over fragrant grass — everything 
suggests agitation and dread. Eye and ear ac- 
quire a mysterious perceptivity. One longs to 
retain, like a viaticum, the voices of loved ones 
in their most inconsequential inflections. We can 
bid farewell to France, for the treasures of our 
hearts have been wrung dry. 

To this feeling the sadness of the news from 
the front adds poignancy. When in tlie morning 
the officers study the map of operations, brought 
up to date according to the communique, a pro- 
found silence falls over the salon of the Waldeck- 
RousseaiL We cannot believe this sweep over 
Belgium, this tidal wave over the French 
provinces. We wish to depart, to do no matter 
what, to work, to die. Under our feet the cruiser 
trembles, our own child, our friend, our master. 
Each hour of delay irritates us. We are indif- 
ferent about the road to victory. Painful and 
tragic as it is, all Frenchmen accept it, and the 
sailors about to leave cherish no other thought. 
The other day, while a creAV of gunners were 
loading shells charged with melinite, I overheard 
this exclamation from a man whose brawny arms 
held a yellow projectile : 



16 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

*^Gawd ! Wliy don't they just use shells stuffed 
with sawdust? It wouldn't talve any more than 
that to give them theirs!" 

I doubt if this war will be won in so childish 
a manner. But it is pleasant for an officer to com- 
mand such children. 



PART II 
IN THE ADEIATIC 

Adriatic Sea, 25 September. 

THE ships keep shelter in Pola and Cattaro, 
and will not come out! There is nothing 
Austrian in sight except the names on the 
maps and the silent coasts. We continue, how- 
ever, to sail along the shore, we brave their sub- 
marines, their mines, their torpedo-boats. Like 
the knights of the Crusades challenging their ad- 
versaries, we go to offer ourselves to their attack. 
But they do not issue forth. 

Like a great -army corps that waits the engage- 
ment, the armored squadrons run the barrage of 
Otranto. They are the lions of our naval 
menagerie. Claws sheathed, jaws closed, they 
strain their ears for the call of the cruisers. . . . 
In small groups the torpedo-destroyers circle 
round them, sweeping the road where the great 
beasts of battle are about to pass, and watching 
to see that no submarine is prowling on the path. 

Further north on the skirts of the Adriatic 
great-lunged battleships are holding the jungle. 
The cruisers know no rest; they pursue their 
anxious watch along the outposts, traversing the 

17 



18 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

waves and piercing the sky. Upon their observa- 
tions, in sun and shadow, depends the safety of 
the great battleships. Theirs is the joy of spying 
the enemy upon the horizon, of rushing forward, 
of receiving the first shots and launching the first 
shells, of so calculating the retreat as to draw the 
enemy within range of the battleships' guns. 

We are three brothers — the Ernest Reuan, the 
Edgar Quinet, are as beautiful and majestic as 
the Waldeck-Rousseau. Their six stacks belch 
forth the same clouds. Engaged in the same work, 
all are acquainted with the same fatigue. Older 
and less sturdy, the Gamhetta, the Ferry, the 
Hugo, and the Miclielet have the same tasks. 
Their family is known by its four smokestacks. 

From Otranto to Fano, and along its whole 
shadowy line, the seven cruisers blockade the 
Adriatic at the end of which the Austrians are 
entrenched. From the summit of the bridge one 
can see for ten miles; that is why we navigate 
at twenty miles' distance, on circuits of short cir- 
cumference, ever the same. The cruisers never 
sight each other, but each knows that below the 
horizon a brother ship is within reach and on 
guard. Sometimes the ceaseless rhythm of their 
march brings them to the confines of their *^beat," 
and they sight each others' masts glistening on 
the horizon like the bayonets of a double sentry. 
Then both tack about, and go their opposite 
directions ; the masts sink out of sight, the smoke 



IN THE ADRIATIC 19 

drifts away, and nothing is left but a solitary 
vigil on a deserted sea. 

Since our departure from Toulon the WaldecJc- 
Rousseau has been in constant motion. In the 
waste of waters the clamors of the world are 
stilled. We have commenced the pilgrimage 
known to so many generations of sailors. At a 
venture we halt some small game — packet-boats, 
three-masted schooners, or steamers, which sub- 
mit to our examination. They bring us a faint 
echo of human affairs — Italians, Greeks, or 
Spaniards — and are fraught with I know not what 
continental aroma. We send these timid travelers 
on their voyage; their examination is but play; 
the important affair lies up there at Pola or Cat- 
taro. Every week after coaling — which we do at 
sea — we go and shake our fists at the enemy, cry- 
ing shame upon him in his retreat and challenging 
him to an encounter. Many times already we 
have gone up there in the night; in the da3i:ime 
we have circled about Lissa, the Dalmatian Isles, 
and even further still. Far behind us the battle- 
ships follow, alert for the signal — ^* Enemy in 
sight ! ' ' But our guns are leveled in vain ; in vain 
our eyes face the tracery of sun and shadow. 
Nothing appears mthin our range except the 
motionless shores, the slumbering isles — never a 
quarry. 

This disappointment does not slacken our 
vigilance. In times of peace a single lieutenant, 



20 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

aided by an ensign, suffices for the many duties 
involved in managing a ship. Whether it has to 
do with observing the heavens, avoiding collisions, 
or coordinating the movements of many hundreds 
of sailors, during his four hours ' command he can 
easily attend to and handle it all. 

Those times are no more. War puts a tenfold 
burden upon the cruiser without adding to its 
staff of officers. For now the ship is at once an 
organ of navigation and an instrument of battle. 
This duality of function demands at every mo- 
ment two directing heads; the first continues to 
direct the watch, the second assumes responsibil- 
ity for the lookout, defense, and battle. On the 
Waldeck we have only six lieutenants ; so we form 
three crews of two each, who relieve one another 
on the bridge in an endless round, by day and 
night, in all weathers. One of them looks after 
the route, the crew and the signals from the 
shores ; the other keeps his eye upon the sea and 
is ready at any moment to let loose the guns. My 
rank of seniority gives me the second role. 

Throughout the rest of the war, whether it be 
short or long, my mate and I are destined to the 
same changes of fortune. He must have my con- 
fidence, and I his. These things are not uttered. 
But they are implicit in our handshake at the 
moment when we take the watch and assume the 
precious charge of the ship for our four-hour 
period. 



IN THE ADRIATIC 21 

He is a Fleming, I am Latin. This difference 
extends even to our ways of thinking, and lends 
piquancy to our two daily meetings. As we lean 
on the bridge rail, he at port and I at starboard, 
we watch the sea witl^ equal vigilance. But in 
our secret souls move thoughts which have noth- 
ing to do A\dth our profession. This is one of the 
privileges of men of action. They can surrender 
themselves wholly to their task without ceasing to 
dream of a thousand things. My comrade and I 
talk in low voices. The war, Germany, the future, 
everything comes up in these murmured conversa- 
tions. We do not believe in keeping silent, for 
our motionless position is likely to bury us in a 
dangerous torpor. As our eyes search space, we 
passionately discuss the great drama, and we 
never agree. But if, in the treacherous night, a 
shadow appears, or a suspicious shape, suddenly 
we are one. Each performs instantly the neces- 
sary rites; one commands the helm and the 
m'achinery, the other directs the primers and 
gunners. The two of us in the darkness cooperate 
perfectly. 

And then a few minutes later the scare is oven 
The gunners resume their posts, the primers un- 
prime the guns. We two officers — one on the port, 
the other on the starboard — continue our vigil and 
our whispered talk. 



22 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

Adriatic Sea, 27 September. 

Three Engiisli cruisers — the Cressy, the Rogue 
and the Ahoukir — have just found their la^t rest- 
ing-place in the North Sea. Still intact, but bear- 
ing in their sides torpedo-wounds, they have 
slipped into their T\inding- sheet of sea-weed, 
where the skeletons of vessels sunk in ancient 
wars Qwait them. The sea-water, that patient 
embalmer, will reclotlie their keels with a shroud 
of rust and lime. On bright days, when the sun 
shines on the still sea, they will see the shadows 
of living vessels pass overhead. They will be 
caressed by the ripple from those screws, and 
their petrified hulks will quiver with pleasure. 
During the tedious hours of the lookout, I have 
been meditating upon the wireless messages which 
announced the death of the Cressy, the Hogue, 
and the AhouJcir, That same tragedy may cut 
short the very phrases which I am commencing 
to unite. I imagine the whole scene, I recreate it. 
I have sailed the North Sea, I have lived two 
years in a submarine, and I am at war now on 
a cruiser. 

I see three ships, somber and silent like our- 
selves, following the course laid down by the 
Admiral. North and south, other patrol vessels 
are traversing the appointed routes. 'VAHiile the 
soldiers of France and the children of England 
sleep, the sailors are keeping watch on the sea, 
that no one may force the barriers of their -joun- 



IN THE ADRIATIC 23 

tries. But tlie sea is illimitable, tlie cruisers are 
few and far between, and cannot lend each other 
aid. For this the sailor must make up in toil 
and weariness; he takes less sleep, he watches 
unceasingly, he is always cold, he never touches 
land. Up there, just as in the Adriatic, he mounts 
his guard, longing with all his heart for an 
adventure. 

Thus sailed the Gressyy the Hogue, and the 
Ahoukir, how many days I do not know. But I 
do know the vigilance, the labor, the self-sacrifice 
of their crews. More than all the others, they 
offered their souls to tli^e service of victory — these 
sailors whose ships are decorated with the famous 
names of English victories. These three noble 
names, did they not foretell a new harvest of 
laurels 1 Did they not symbolize a return to more 
fraternal policies, which dedicated to the service 
of France these namesakes of French defeats! 
English officers and sailors, with the clear instinct 
of men participating in great deeds, should offer 
France, in a single victory over our common 
enemies, a recompense for these three disasters 
England had inflicted upon her! 

This night passed like all the others. Along 
the horizon were trails of gray light. The rolling 
sea emerged from the chaos of dawn, and the 
lookouts, with heavy heads and quivering eyelids, 
scanned for the thousandth time the troubled 
awakening of the North Sea. They saw nothing. 



24 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

Perhaps one of them had descried a streak of 
foam whiter and clearer than the rest, and quickly 
raised his glass to his eyes. But the streak of 
foam had already been covered again, and he 
dropped the glass which had not revealed the 
periscope. The three cruisers pursued their way 
amid the ridges of foam, one of which, though 
they were unaware of it, meant death to them. 

A shock went tiirough the first ship. The sailors 
on deck thought there had occurred an accident to 
the machinery; those below thought that a gun 
had been fired. . . . Everyone Ustened. Under the 
brave fellows' feet the ship turned, lazily at first, 
while the waves boiled impatiently about her. 
Then they understood, all of them ; they knew that 
death was near. Before they sank into the sailors' 
grave, they looked again for the enemy who had 
destroyed them without granting them the joy of 
battle. Their staring eyes fell upon their comrade 
of the patrol, and filled with fear, for the Aboukir 
was lurching too. Both had been stung to death 
by the stealthy advance of the submarine vipers. 
Generous still in their very death-agony, the two 
wounded ships hoisted warning signals, that their 
comrade might evade the deadly track. But she, 
as generous in her pity, raced to save the lives 
of the sailors in the engulfing waters. She too 
received her mortal wound, without being able to 
fire a single gun, although, clearer-sighted in the 



IN THE ADRIATIC 25 

face of death, she was able to discern the sub- 
marine under its white streak of water. 

As the chill of the hemlock poison rises to the 
heart, the water rose in the three ships. The 
boilers choked with it, the machinery was 
drowned; one by one the watertight compart- 
ments, exploded by the pressure of the waves, 
burst with the noise of thunder. The electricity 
failed everywhere at once, and the sea became 
a tomb where men struggled and were buffeted 
by the waves. On the deck, drawn up in line, the 
crews gazed straight into their doom. The triple 
choir raised a hjmn which they had learned on 
their English Sabbaths, and they sank to meet 
their God. 

Farewell, sailors of the three cruisers, fallen 
perhaps through the same fate that is in store 
for our Adriatic cruisers! Your anguish, your 
vigils, your last thoughts, we feel here on the 
Waldech-Rousseaii. Your end was noble, even if 
no one around me envies it. For we pray the God 
of Battles, if he sends us death, that we may at 
least exact a heavy toll from our enemies ! 

Strait of Otranto, 8 October, 
How can one describe the atmosphere of the 
Adriatic? For that marvel our most delicate 
adjectives are inadequate. It is more than 
diaphanous, better than translucent; it dreams. 
It seems to exist only to contain pure color. 



26 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

How many times has this immaterial air de- 
ceived the officer of the watch ! How many miles 
away is a certain steamer! In how many hours 
shall we skirt the island that rises amid the 
clouds? 

Formerly we solved these problems without 
thought, for our eyes had learned to gauge the 
density of the air and its deceptions. The Ad- 
riatic atmosphere has lowered our conceit. Skies 
or sails, lighthouse or shore, each object is always 
further off than we suppose. Prudent now, we 
hesitate to say whether Corfu is thirty miles 
away, or that this pale line of the Otranto coast 
is not a cloud resting on the water. We are not 
wrong to mistrust ourselves. Corfu is fifty miles 
away, and this imagined cloud is the coast of 
Italy. 

The officers on the bridge struggle with these 
illusions. The se^ itself multiplies their difficul- 
ties. Formerly the sailor dreaded only what 
moved above the surface of the sea. He noticed 
at almost any distance traces of smoke, indistinct 
masts, and all the signs by which a ship reveals 
her presence. But the sailors of to-day level their 
gaze upon that surface which was once so in- 
nocent. . . . Between two crests floats a dark 
speck. ... Is it not a mine charged with ex- 
plosives? Those shining lines, like the trail of 
a snail, are they not the oily tracks of a sub- 
marine lying in wait for us? 



IN THE ADRIATIC 27 

But sailors learn secrets. Formerly, they con- 
templated the waves and ripples carelessly, as 
queer old comrades whose every mood one par- 
doned. But now they keep them under a st-ern in- 
flexible eye. The play of a wave, the alternate 
strips of light, the shadows of a cloud — we 
grapple with everything, and never relax our 
vigilance. For everything is illusion. 

The lookout wavers between a fear of being 
ridiculed and a fear of having seen amiss. There 
is never a day that some wireless message does 
not come from one of our sentinels of the sea, 
telling the ^^ naval army'^ that a submarine is in 
sight. From Saint Maure to Lissa, from Tarento 
to Corfu, all the French ships are "anxious about 
the outcome of this encounter, and hope that the 
comrade engaged will be victorious. Minutes slip 
away, we imagine the whole drama ; a noble envy 
stirs every heart. And then the second message 
comes over the .sea. **It was not a submarine!'' 
it declares. Then the Adriatic and the Ionian 
Sea resoimd with .a burst of mocking laughter, 
one of those bursts of laughter which only the 
descendants of the Gauls know how to give. 

Tragedy, nevertheless, comes close on laughter. 
From the bridge the officer of the watch has seen 
something, two or three miles away, that is not 
quite the color of its surroundings. He fastens 
his glass on this dark or light speck, which moves 
slowly like a periscope on the lookout. . . . The 



28 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

thing disappears and reappears, like a periscope 
which is taking its bearings, ordering its course, 
and waiting. . , . The officer *s heart leaps. His 
orders start the engines, direct the pilot, send the 
gunners to their guns. His body is tense with 
joy, his eyes shine; on the bridge, at the port- 
holes, officers and sailors follow the alarm with 
excited interest, and gaze out at the suspicious 
speck in the distance. Everyone envies the com- 
rades who have charge of the ship at this brave 
moment, the gunners and steersmen who will pit 
their wits against the submarine. A sort of joyful 
anguish grips their hearts, for it is war to the 
death, and perhaps the torpedo is already 
launched and making straight for the keel. We 
fairly suffocate with excitement. 

But some more experienced eye has made out 
the shape. **It's a bit of wood!" murmurs a 
top-man. . . . **No, it's a bottle !'* whispers a 
gunner. Each one gives his opinion. ^* It's a sea- 
gull!'' **It's the branch of a tree!" **It's a 
broom-handle!" **It's a box of preserves!" 
The uproar increases and rises to the officer on 
the bridge, who wipes his glass in order to see 
better. He is still expectant; he curses this en- 
counter a thousand times. He is responsible for 
the boat and for all these laughing sailors. Torn 
between derision and danger, he remains prudent, 
and makes for the dangerous object, with the 
order to open fire still on the tip of his tongue. 



IN THE ADRIATIC 29 

Suddenly, when we are eight hundred or a thou- 
sand meters away, he takes a few nervous steps, 
countermands the alarm, orders the engines to 
slow down, and turns his eyes away from the 
preserve-box, the branch, the bottle, whatever it 
may be. The ship shoots by at a short distance. 
The jokers in the crew salute the innocent waif 
that floats past and disappears. . . . Unless it be 
a gull, busy with its bath ; in which case it dives, 
preens its feathers, dives again, without bother- 
ing about the ship, or her officer on the bridge. 
Between its plunges, sunk up to its breast in the 
water, it rides past the flying steel monster with 
a mocking ^ ^ Kwang ! Kwang ! ' * 

At the end of his watch, the officer goes below 
to the wardroom where he is received with mock- 
ing laughter. These sorry jokes he scorns as a 
stoic should. He knows that the next night or 
to-morrow, at any moment, his comrades are as 
likely to make a mistake as he. We had all rather 
see a periscope than seagulls or branches. In the 
North Sea the Cressy, the Rogue and the Ahoukir 
had seen gulls and branches a thousand times. 
The day they sighted nothing they went to their 
doom. 

Adriatic Sea, 15 October, 
The Adriatic is our private estate. The 
cruisers make use of it as if Austria did not 
exist. They ascend it, circle about, stop in front 



30 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

of tlie islands, challenge the coasts, without a 
single visible enemy ^s attacking them. Doubtless 
the submarines come out daily from Cattaro in 
quest of the prize booty that our vessels would 
make. But either chance or our vigilance has 
prevented the disaster. We watch, we are worn 
out; nothing happens. Sometimes in the West, 
low on the water, trails the Italian coast; smoke 
floats over Otranto or Brindisi; for forty days 
this is all we have known of human activity. The 
lighthouse of Santa Marin of Leuca marks the 
uttermost point of Latin soil; it is a desolate 
object, like a pale needle stuck into the blue air. 
By night, its light falls on the veils of the horizon. 
It is one of the lonely friends of our solitude. 

Towards the eastern coasts other friends watch 
our passage — the gaunt peaks of Albania or 
Epirus, or even the Ionian Archipelago, that 
delicate 'jewel of stonCo Albania and Epirus! 
Famous but sinister names! AAHierever Islam 
rules dwells devastation. The bases of the moun- 
tains are buried in the sea, and they look colossal ; 
death lives on their gray slopes^ A warm sun, 
however, shines on them, and busy hands may be 
tending vineyards and olive orchards^ Yet one 
sees only masses of rocks, and the scars of moun- 
tain-streams. Here and there a bald yellowish 
circle stains the mass of stone. In that spot 
flourished in former times an Albanian or Epirote 
village. Fire destroyed it, and the fury of men 



IN THE ADRIATIC* 31 

has left it only a charred waste. A dizzy siknce 
comes from these mountains. It falls and rolls 
over the blue water, so hard a blue one thinks 
a hammer might strike sparks from it. No one 
lives in these somber regions. Along the bays 
and inlets barks with Levantine sails scud before 
the wind, passing by in all possible haste. These 
barks carry mountaineers crowded in their holds 
like sheep in a pen. In these brigand realms life 
is so unsafe that even the brigands themselves 
prefer the hazards of the sea to journeys by land. 

Our cruiser halts these tiny boats. Then the 
human cargo bursts out from the hold, and their 
distress shows that they think their last hour has 
come. Clothed in sheepskins, armed with daggers 
and pistols, these rascals conceal in their hearts 
a world of unknown crime; every time they find 
it profitable they are ready to massacre and be- 
tray. Their dark minds do not know who we 
are nor why we have come. We can only be 
executioners, equipped with irresistible weapons. 

The visiting officer reassures them, of course, 
with his gestures. The passengers remain sus- 
picious; their keen eyes watch him as he points 
to the holds and orders their contents turned out. 
The bullies understand; we are robbers and will 
let their lives go in exchange for their mer- 
chandise. Pell-mell they throw out their 
figs, their bundles of dried fish, their little 
sacks of corn — ^wretched food of wretched 



32 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

beings. They spread them out at the foot 
of this plunderer in a lace-covered uniform. 
Their broken language and raised hands call 
Christ to witness, or Allah, or even the Demons 
of the caves, that nothing further of value is left 
in the hold. The officer turns the sacks over, 
opens some, for fear that cans of essence or cases 
of explosives have been the object of this furtive 
journey to Cattaro or Pola. His foraging fingers 
encounter nothing but figs or herrings, which 
leave on his finger-nails a faint spicy smell. Care- 
lessly he wdpes off with his handkerchief the 
mixed fragments of fruit sugar. With a severe 
glance he makes a last inspection of the boat. 
The good bandits relapse into disquietude. They 
don't understand; what does he want of them? 
One of them speaks, and at once their faces clear 
up. It is gold he demands, good sterling coin, an 
easy ransom to carry. The richer ones extract 
from their belts some pieces from the Balkan 
States, much worn and effaced; the poor ones 
spread out on their palms some sous and centimes, 
so bent and filed they are good only for jacket- 
buttons for our sailors. An old bashi-bazouk, 
white around the temples and at the ends of his 
mustache, has not a single good coin; crouched 
on the deck, he tells over a blackened rosary and 
from his god begs absolution for past sins. The 
others plead ; the women kiss the hands and knees 
of the uniformed stranger; the children cry bit- 



IN THE ADRIATIC 33 

terly. The visiting officer embarks majestically 
in his longboat, and makes a gesture of disdain 
that sends all this misery on its way again. The 
pilot hoists the sail, the rich man pockets his 
piasters and the beggar his coppers, the bashi- 
bazonk his prayers, the women their kisses, and 
the children their tears. The sheet swells, and 
the bark passes below the cruiser, whose crew 
smile indulgently, while our Albanians and 
Epirotes, seated on their hatches, understand 
nothing whatever. 

On other days our police duty takes us further 
south. Steamers and sailing vessels frequent the 
approaches to Corfu, and our visits are more 
careful and more profitable. The shores have 
lost their gloomy appearance; black herds are 
pasturing on the hills ; each slope is checkered in 
squares of olive orchards and clusters of vine- 
yard; in little well-sheltered coves four white 
houses are grouped round a ruined mosque. 

On the edge of the water, overhanging a harbor, 
rises the castle of some erstwhile pasha. This 
castle is round, copper-colored, classic in design, 
beautifully situated. The blue water reflects its 
pale image, and we often slow down for the mere 
pleasure of admiring it. Victor Hugo would have 
loved this stronghold, whence pirates used to 
surge forth, and the village where the booty was 
brought together ; his lines would have celebrated 
the pasha-corsair, the beauty of his odalisks. 



34 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

and the romance of their jeweled retreat. These 
lovely walls, however, conceal tragedies of Islam. 
They brood over the sea paths, and their silence 
is that of a beaten vultnre. I prefer to forget 
that sinister grandeur. I prefer this empty sil- 
houette, artistically placed here in a happy set- 
ting for the brief delectation of a few passing 
sailors. These are empty pleasures, perhaps, but 
we have no others. 

Perfect hours await us at sea, off Corfu, Paxo 
and Cephalonia. When the twilight unfolds its 
pageant of air and light, we get a sense of joy 
and confidence that sustains us in our exile. The 
sun sinks in a procession of purple clouds, shad- 
ing away to a faint heliotrope in the sky overhead. 
From mid-heaven hang sheafs of eglantine and 
geranium, beneath which blossom red carnations, 
tulips and poppies. The sun feeds all this floral 
fire. Under the iridescent play of color the sea 
has disappeared. Its liquid surface has merged 
with the luminous air, and the cruiser, rose- 
colored, moves through myriad rainbows. 

Everything about the suspended ship is changed 
to silence and fantasy. The shadows of twilight 
succeed the colors that glow and disappear. Air 
and sun create marvels that are not of our world. 
The light falls on us like a blessing which pene- 
trates our hearts and thoughts with an inexpres- 
sible ecstasy. 

At last the sun rests on the horizon, which 



IN THE ADRIATIC 35 

slowly swallows it. Our sad thoughts are drawn 
toward the West, towards France. For some of 
us that sun is gilding the faces of loved ones and 
caressing the windows of our homes; for others 
it is glimmering in the tearful eyes of a sweet- 
heart. From our lips, like a messenger of feelings 
that cannot be written, its beams carry our kisses 
to lay on other lips. . . . But it also sweeps over 
fields bathed in the pure blood of our soldiers — 
and the thoughts of these ** vagabonds'' it bears 
onward toward their spoil. 

Certain evenings, while the glorious sun is thus 
bearing away our dreams, the moon, languorous 
and discolored, rises laboriously over the Ionian 
Isles, and offers us her pale rays. But we 
do not look at her. For her sickly light, her 
capricious form, her pilgrimage among the 
shadows — all serve to remind us too painfully of 
the obscurity of our own labor, the uncertainty 
of our thoughts and the memory which our work 
will leave behind us to the ages. 

Strait of OtrantOy 18 October, 
Day before yesterday the ** naval army'' 
gathered at the rendezvous appointed by the 
Admiral off Fano. It was a warm, clear day. The 
sea seemed asleep; light clouds came and went 
in the sky. From all directions gathered the 
squadrons, the divisions, and the separate vessels. 
Slow and thickset, the ironclads rose over the 



36 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

horizon and moved down upon us. Round about 
them destroyers performed evolutions like grey- 
hounds frolicking round a hunter. From Italy, 
from the Ionian Isles, raced black-striped cruisers, 
swift and graceful, plowing up the foam; they 
had left their monotonous patrol guard to join 
the French cohorts about to ascend the Adriatic. 
At the rendezvous, crouching like a beautiful 
tiger in repose, and covered with flags and 
pennants, the Courhet, the Admiral's vessel, 
awaited the others. Breathless they paused be- 
neath her gaze, and received their final orders. 
From the bridges of the Courhet, the signalmen, 
mth movements of their arms, sent preliminary 
instructions to each ship; the many-colored 
signals ascended and descended the halyards. 
Boats and launches left the ships and hurried to 
the Admiral from whom the officers received long 
closed envelopes which they quickly carried back 
to their ships. The commanders opened them, 
bent over maps and plans, and divined the wishes 
of their chief. . . . Every week since we left 
Toulon this has been the episode which interrupts 
our tedious voyages. After it is over, our ^^ naval 
arm}^'' numerous and impressive, again breaks 
up. One after another, the ships begin to churn 
the purple water, taking their proper posts and 
lines, and dispersing towards their regular night 
routes. The Admirals lead their squadrons and 
divisions; long dim streaks in the sky, far apart, 



IN THE ADRIATIC 37 

indicate the tracks of our departure, but the fickle 
sea effaces all its lines. Towards the North, los- 
ing itself in the distance, the immense procession 
moves on to offer a tournament of battle. It 
stretches out the length of a province. Behind, 
and at a great distance from each other, the 
armored squadrons move at a slow and steady 
pace. At the head, offering their breasts, deploy 
the cruisers, sweeping the Adriatic. Ahead of 
them there is nothing but emptiness. 

The Waldeck-Rousseau advances in the night. 
Tense with watching, she trembles in the darkness. 
All the ports, all the scuttles are closed, and not 
a particle of light betrays us. The fires are con- 
trolled, so that they throw off no sparks or cinders. 
Absolute silence prevails. Our invisible progress 
makes no more sound than the flight of a night- 
bird. It is my detachment which has the first 
watch. 

There is a certain powerful excitement in con- 
centrating all one's energy in ear and eye, in 
restraining the desire of the blood for sudden 
action. My comrade to port, I to starboard, do 
not stir. If our fingers mechanically touch our 
eyelids or scratch our itching neck, our intent eyes 
never waver. They see nothing but blackness. 
The light of the stars is veiled in a thin mist, and 
there are no reflections on the water. We move 
in a darkness as of the tomb. Thus, in the forest, 
animals creep along on guard, bending the weeds 



38 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

and crawling through the brush they do not even 
rustle. Our engines and screws drive us along, 
supple and furtive like groups of cats. Our prow 
cuts the water without stirring it. 

Of this cautious being, my comrade and I are 
the temporary brain. Around us' perhaps lurk 
Austrian destroyers, also invisible and silent, 
which may be launching at us, as they pass, their 
pointed torpedoes. Before we have suspected 
that death prowls there, they mil have perceived 
a gigantic hulk making a spot in the darkness. 
Let the two officers on watch, safeguarding the 
ship, have a second of forgetfulness or fatigue, 
and a thousand men may be lost in the abyss 
whence none returns. In us these thousand 
sailors place implicit confidence. If disaster 
should happen, they would forgive us in their last 
agony, because they know that no human power 
could have prevented it. Presently, when we lie 
down on our bunks, worn out with the strain, we 
shall deliver our lives over to our successors with- 
out a thought. The two Avatchers on the bridge 
are the guardian angels of the crew. 

That is the greatness of our vocation. Nowhere 
in this war, in which the battlefields will have 
seen so much heroism, will there be a heavier task 
imposed on leaders of men. No general or ser- 
geant could commit a mistake which would an- 
nihilate his army or his squad in a single instant. 
The ball kills only one man, the shell carries off 



IN THE ADRIATIC 39 

only a file; and the mine spares those at a dis- 
tance. Every fighter on land has his chance of 
surviving the worst disaster, and the most care- 
less officer will never have upon his conscience 
the death of all the men he has commanded. 

But a boat is a prison, more confining than 
stones and bars and chains; we are suspended 
over the abyss. Naval catastrophes are like a 
vomit from hell; no other catastrophe crushes so 
many lives at a single stroke. Lives and goods 
lost together! Terrible words, which cannot be 
said of cataclysms on land. Earthquakes, fires 
leave reminders, ruins, witnesses of that which 
was. . . . But the ocean tears from her surface 
a handful of metal and men, and sends them to 
rot in her bowels. And the next day the un- 
changeable deeps smile their eternal smile. 

Long ago the sea knew the whole art of murder. 
Our diabolical genius had to add tenfold to the 
horror. Human ingenuity has invented the mine, 
more remorseless than a hundred reefs; the 
torpedo, more destructive than a hurricane, and 
those explosives which tear to pieces still living 
tissue into projectiles of flesh. 

The slow night ebbs away. These forebodings 
of the fate of sailors invade the souls of the 
watchers, and make them long to vanquish the 
specters of the shadow. For to die is nothing if 
one has been able to save others. From the in- 
terior of the sliip, from the hammocks and the 



40 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

posts of the watch, rises the voice of a hundred 
trusting hearts. That unity of appeal creates 
this thing which has neither form nor law, but 
which draws its strength from the very depths of 
the soul, in that affection, that complete devotion 
of oneself : Duty. 

Tedious as are the hours filled mth such dis- 
tressing thoughts, the night, nevertheless, finally 
begins to fade. The East pales and the mists 
disappear and unveil the depths of the sky, where 
a few faint stars go out one after the other before 
the approach of the sun. The light slowly con- 
quers the limits of space, and sea and ships take 
on form and substance. From the South a cruiser 
emerges, gray as the waves through which it 
comes, the dawni strips it of its veil, moulds its 
shape, reveals the masts and the smoke from its 
stacks. Farther away there is a row of motion- 
less points on the surface of the water ; these are 
the masts of the ironclads that have followed on 
our track. Others still farther South are entirely 
invisible. 

The mountains of Austria and Montenegro take 
possession of a segment of the sky; their white 
peaks have a scarlet hem. They form a wall 
stretching from North to South, of which the 
ravines, the escarpments and the summits are still 
buried in mist. Our Cruiser gets orders to bear 
farther northward, while the other cruisers de- 



IN THE ADRIATIC 41 

ploy between it and the ironclads. It puts on 
speed, its whole bulk quivering under its armor. 
When it has taken position, it can still see its 
neighbor in the South, and the stacks of the ship 
behind it. But only puffs of smoke reveal the 
presence of the other ships, of which the most 
distant is opposite Antivari or St. John of Medua, 
fifty kilometers away. 

The entire ** naval army'* bears off to the right 
and moves toward the enemy coast, which every 
moment renders clearer. I take the watch, which 
has been resigned before midnight. A few hours 
of uneasy sleep have left me with the taste of 
ashes in my mouth, and a painful fluttering in my 
eyelids. But have we not all lived in this way 
for I know not how many weeks? And should 
one not whip up his blood in the face of approach- 
ing danger? And can one stay drowsy in the 
marvel of tliis dawn? 

Here is light in all its purity and perfection. 
The blue of a young girPs eyes, or the delicate 
green of April meadows, seem gross and hard in 
comparison with this light. It is quiet, yet alive 
with beauty. It enchants like a perfume ; it evokes 
a solemn rapture. Surely the robes of angels 
must be woven from rays of such light. 

But from behind the moimtains the sun rises. 
Objects appear more clearly and lose their 
delicacy of line. Far to the North over the Dal- 
matian Isles a few clouds stain the sky. The haze 



42 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

is lifting from the bay of Cattaro, tlie details of 
which we study through our glasses — gray spots 
of forts, white streaks of light-houses, smoke of 
Austrian ships sheltered in the roadstead. Above 
the town, which is still invisible, slowly rises a 
black point like a dark bubble ; I watch this sus- 
picious ascension, but cannot yet make out what 
it means. On the other side the sun hangs on 
the summit of a mountain. 

All the air seems to vibrate. One's eyes are 
dazzled at such refulgence, such clearness. The 
sun frees himself from the mountain peaks, and 
as he rises pours down a triumphal torrent of 
light. The Dalmatian Isles, the Austrian coast 
rise suddenly, imposing and menacing. The 
cruisers to the South reflect a radiance from their 
hulls, the sheet of sea over which our cruiser 
advances alone is covered with a glassy surface 
which the eye cannot penetrate. With their hands 
on the mortar, the gunners stand stiller than ever. 
In the bow of the ship the sailors who do not 
belong to the watch keep their eyes on the ap- 
proaching land and the gliding sea. The ascend- 
ing black point has stopped, and seems held at 
the end of a line. Now I recognize it for a captive 
balloon. Its casing, its cording, looks as tran- 
sparent as a spider's web. But from its height 
a human eye has observed us ; the submarines and 
destroyers have been warned by telephone; and 
all is astir, in this inaccessible arsenal, with the 



IN THE ADRIATIC 43 

effort to attack, without danger to themselves, 
the cruiser that offers them battle. In the 
splendor of the still morning, this captive balloon 
symbolizes the troubled passions of men — ^murder 
and destruction. But it is delightful to approach 
the enemy through all this enchantment. Under 
the sunlight the sea has become blue and seductive 
again, and the death of the cruiser, should it occur, 
will take on a sort of divine beauty in this 
brightness. 

Things begin to happen. Out of the last bank 
of mist which stretches along the coast there 
mount in spiral flights two almost imperceptible 
insects. At so great a distance they resemble two 
animated bits of dust. They are Austrian aero- 
planes seeking the height and the currents of air 
favorable for attack. They see the Waldeck- 
Rousseau^ lost in the sea-mist, and instantly 
separate, one drawing northward, the other south- 
ward. In a few minutes their outlines are hidden 
in the clouds, and we no longer know what has 
become of them. 

Soon the Montenegrin post of Lovcen signals us 
by wireless that the harbor of Cattaro is astir. 
A squadron of torpedo-destroyers is getting up 
steam. Some ironclads are moving, submarines 
are making for the channel outlet. Forewarned, 
the watchers on the bridge, sailors and officers, 
gaze at the narrows, and soon discern on the sur- 
face of the water some fine bluish tufts like the 



44 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

smoking butts of cigarettes. It takes the acute 
vision of seamen to distinguish them, for we are 
sailing more than twenty miles from shore. They 
are two submarines coming out of Cattaro and 
preparing to submerge. The brightness of the air 
is enough to dazzle us. And then we see nothing 
more. These metal fish are buried under the 
waves, taking unknown paths, and moving mys- 
teriously towards us who are their prey. 

All eyes on the bridge are fixed upon the scene. 
We approach danger with clear vision and mind 
and with a quiet pleasure. On the forward deck 
the marines not on duty scrutinize alternately the 
horizon and the faces of the officers on watch to 
make out what adventures they hold in store. . . . 
Among the winding straits of Cattaro glide masts 
as fine as hairs; these are the destroyers which 
in their turn are issuing forth to attack us. The 
Waldech-Roiisseau keeps on toward the hostile 
coast. At last the first destroyers appear, gray, 
and plumed with smoke ; the moment has come to 
prepare ourselves for battle, and the commander 
orders the trumpets sounded to clear the decks 
for action. 

At the first notes of this music which they have 
heard so many times for mere drill, the sailors 
prick up their ears and cast questioning glances 
at the bridge. Voices are raised asking nervously : 
**Is it in earnest this timeT' With an affirmative 
nod I reassure them. A joyous clamor rises from 



IN THE ADRIATIC 45 

all their hearts, the clamor of children who are 
at last going to play. In an instant evei-yone has 
rushed to his post of battle. The decks are de- 
serted, the ship is abandoned. 

But in its bosom a hidden life goes forward. 
The port stanchions are closed; the pow^erful 
bolts, which the men hastily shoot, make out of 
the enormous hull a hive partitioned by steel. In 
every cell of the hive groups of men, sometimes 
a single man, look after the apparatus, set it work- 
ing, and wait. They see nothing, and will see 
nothing. If the ship is conquered, they will not 
know how or why. Everyone is silent. Where 
soldiers in the great moment of battle translate 
their joy of action into shouting, sailors, on the 
contrary, must keep absolute silence. .Only the 
rattle of the engines, the telephone orders, and 
the trumpet calls may be heard. In the turrets 
and the casemates, behind the guns, the gunners 
and pointers hold themselves motionless, ready 
for the swift, precise movements, repeated so 
many times in innumerable drills, which will send 
straight to their mark the rain of well-^imed 
shells. 

From the guns, the engines, the helm, the mute 
tension of a thousand men flows back to the turret, 
the brain of a cruiser. In this armored enclosure 
are stationed the commander, his two officers in 
charge of the firing, his navigating officer. They 
know that the safety of the ship depends on the 



46 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

clearness of tlieir judgment. With lowered voices, 
as if they were conversing on matters of no im- 
portance, they address sailors who transmit their 
orders. Crouching before the artillery keyboard, 
a few men manipulate the fly-wheels, the bells and 
signals which tell the orchestra of guns their dis- 
tances, correct their aim, give them orders to 
fire. Behind the three dials which direct the en- 
gines three sailors quickly write the orders. To 
right and left, mouth and ear to a line of tele- 
phones and speaking trumpets, two sailors listen 
to the word from below and reply. With his hand 
on the lever of the steering-gear, and his eyes 
on the compass of the route, an impassive petty- 
officer executes the orders of m.aneuver. There 
is no noise except the slight grating of the rudder 
indicating each degree to starboard or port. 
Through the horizontal embrasures of the turret, 
like the narrow iron-barred slits in the helmets 
of knights, the four officers survey the horizon. 
They make out the churning of foam from a 
periscope which is moving toward the cruiser's 
starboard at top speed. Instantly the whole vol- 
ley of light guns opens fire on this enemy; the 
rudder is turned to starboard to change the course 
of the cruiser, deceive the submarine, and attempt 
to ram it. . . . Almost at the same moment there 
appears from the clouds to the northward an aero- 
plane, which descends towards us like a water- 
spout, and wheels about, trying to get a long- 



IN THE ADRIATIC 47 

distance aim. Our sharpsliooters cover this enemy 
of the air, and their shots crackle above us like 
drums. As soon as we are close enough to fight 
the charging destroyers effectively, our heavy 
guns open a steady fire on them. Our cruiser be- 
comes a mass of smoke and noise as it confronts 
the triple peril of air, surface and deep. Every 
man works with the precision of a clock. I cannot 
begin to enumerate all the episodes of these ex- 
citing moments. . . . 

Three hundred meters above us, the aviator lets 
loose his bombs. Their fall makes a noise like 
the rending of a sheet of iron. But the turn of 
the cruiser to starboard has defeated the preci- 
sion of his aim. Near our hull, fore and aft, they 
burst with an uproar which deadens the voice of 
the guns; bits of them rebound to the decks and 
turrets, and around the spot where they have ex- 
ploded the sea quivers as if it had been peppered 
with a hail of pebbles. The aviator mounts higher, 
pursued by our sharpshooters, who, however, 
soon abandon him. 

Despite the turn to starboard, the cruiser 
misses the submarine by a few feet, and it dis- 
appears beneath the water. The sailors below 
hear a rippling and lapping of water pass along 
the hull; they even think they feel the impact of 
a solid object which scrapes the keel without being 
able to penetrate it. There is very little doubt 
but that the submarine did torpedo us, but the 



/ 

48 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

quick maneuver of the ship saved us. Instead 
of hitting us squarely, and damaging our sides, 
the torpedo — perhaps there were several — ^merely- 
grazed us and passed on without effect. 

In order to see whether it has touched us and 
to get another aim at us, the submarine comes to 
the surface again ; as it rises we see its periscope 
and turret athwart us, and without delay the light 
guns cover it a second time. The water boils 
about it, the shells burst and envelop it in yel- 
lowish smoke. Had it been struck? Is it de- 
stroyed? One never knows the fate of these 
enemies, which, whether victor or vanquished, im- 
mediately submerge. The course of the cruiser 
sweeps us far ahead; we no longer concern our- 
selves with the submarine, which is no menace to 
us now. Only our heavy guns speak. 

At a great distance the Austrian torpedo- 
destroyers are encircled by our falling shells. 
But, like the snipes they are, they twist and zig- 
zag on the water. We rush along at a speed of 
eleven meters a second; and if our fire halts the 
destroyers, it does not seem to touch them. Their 
prudence triumphs over their boldness. Per- 
suaded that our fire will never admit them within 
torpedoing distance, they describe a half-circle 
and flee. In succession, like rabbits regaining 
their burrow, they take shelter in the channel of 
Cattaro, until we distinguish only the tips of their 
masts, which recede, and disappear. 



IN THE ADRIATIC 49 

Our heavy guns next engage the coast-works, 
light-houses, or batteries, which are now in range. 
Since the explosions on rocks and earth enable 
us to regulate our fire, we should shortly be doing 
great damage to the shore, except for a wireless 
from the commander-in-chief ordering us to cease 
our solitary combat. Doubtless the land forts are 
waiting for us to come nearer, and their guns, 
more powerful than ours, mil do us more harm 
than the aviator, the submarine and the destroyers 
together. 

Eegretful but obedient, the W aldech-Eousseau 
turns her back on the shore and moves southward 
toward the waiting cruisers. In a few seconds 
their distant outlines, as well as the squadrons 
of ironclads, grow large and stand out in relief 
against the sky. They would all have come to 
our rescue if our challenge had succeeded in draw- 
ing out the powerful armament sheltered in Cat- 
taro. But once more the Austrians fail to offer 
battle, having attempted only to send the Waldeck- 
Rousseau to her death, with the smallest possible 
loss to themselves. 

Wliile our cruiser regains her own division at 
top speed, the periscope of a second submarine, 
on watch in the offing, reveals its furrow of foam 
on our port side. Eegardless of whether it has 
launched its torpedoes, we rain upon it a steady 
fire from our lighter guns, not pausing to pursue 
it, for the order to return is imperative. Half 



50 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

an hour later the WaldecJc-Roiisseait slows down 
and again takes her place in the line of cruisers. 
Their crews look with envy upon this vessel, the 
first in the naval war to have the triple honor 
of facing the triple enemies of the ships. 

Two signals are raised. We take new positions 
for descending the Adriatic. In a few days we 
shall come back to insult Austria, and perhaps 
we shall be more fortunate. It is now the end 
of a white, translucent morning. On board, the 
battle organization is abandoned, the ordinary 
watch resumed. While the officers and sailors on 
the bridges continue to study the sea, we meet 
again in the ward-room. Meal-time approaches, 
no one mentions the moments through which the 
cruiser has just lived. A certain officer of en- 
gineers comes out of the boiler-room and tries 
to beat his record at cup and ball, playing with 
a steady hand. Four others, their ears still filled 
with the roar of the guns, plunge into the peaceful 
subtleties of ^* bridge." Others examine maps of 
Flanders and Poland. 

In a profound calm, a kind of oblivion, we talk 
of things remote from war. And when, after the 
meal, the commander assembles the officers in the 
saloon to celebrate in a glass of champagne their 
baptism of fire, his speech already seems to call 
up an event from the far past. 



IN THE ADRIATIC 51 

Adriatic Sea, 25 October, 
Something dark brushes the horizon. A spot 
on the sky? A storm cloud? The mirage of an 
island? Our eyes do not hesitate for long; the 
thing lives and breathes; it is the smoke of a 
vessel. The officer on watch speeds up the en- 
gines, changes the rudder, and points the bow 
toward this smoke. Since our departure from 
France not a ship, not a sail, has evaded investiga- 
tion by our cruisers and destroyers, the Argus 
and Cerberus of the ocean paths. 

Above the horizon rise the masts, the stacks, 
the hull of the ship. Innocent or guilty, it knows 
it cannot escape our speed, and does not attempt 
to flee. At fifteen thousand meters, its outline 
indicates whether it is a liner, or a freighter; at 
ten thousand, its displacement shows us whether 
it is loaded or carries no cargo ; at five thousand, 
its flag reveals its nationality. If it be English 
or French, it is allowed to pass. If neutral, we 
show it the signal of the international code : **Halt 
immediately!'' 

It has to stop. If it shows any inclination to 
pursue its way, the first blank shot warns it not 
to play with fire. If it pretends not to hear this 
reprimand, a shell falls in its path to inform it 
that we are not joking. If it insists upon proceed- 
ing, a few shots straight at its hull assure it that 
the matter is becoming serious. It always stops in 
time. 



52 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

The cruiser halts within range of the suspect. 
In an instant one of our long-boats has been 
lowered and its crew seizes the oars. An officer, 
armed with sword and revolver and carrying a 
big record-book, jumps into the boat, which puts 
off from our vessel. A sailor accompanies him. 
When the wind is rough and the sea choppy, the 
boat bounds, plunges and rolls on this passage 
which seems interminable; the seven sailors 
struggle with all their might at the oars ; buckets 
of water drench the heads of officer and men; in 
a few minutes they are soaked through. 

The long-boat accosts the steamer, from the rail 
of which hangs a rope ladder, sometimes merely 
a knotted rope. Why are they always too short? 
I don't know. An^^vay the officer, hampered by 
his sword and his register, and strangled in a 
uniform which was never meant for jumping, 
stretches out his arms and tries to grasp the lad- 
der. But the swell rolls back and forth and tips 
the boat. As he approaches the ship, there is the 
ladder swaying two meters above him; as soon 
as he is high enough to seize it, the ship lurches 
off. It is like a skittish horse that refuses the 
mount. At these gymnastics the passengers and 
crew of the ship smile maliciously. The officer 
rages. He puts his sword between his teeth, his 
register between coat and shirt, waits for the 
least unfavorable moment, launches himself head- 
long — and grasps the ladder. For a few seconds 



IN THE ADRIATIC 53 

he performs on this fljdng trapeze. A playful 
wave laps his knees, his hips, his chest. Recover- 
ing himself, he makes a few rungs, hoists himself 
up the slippery ropes, throws his leg over the rail, 
and at last puts his foot on the deck. 

This adventure, thank heaven, is not always so 
unpleasant! Some visits seem like pleasant 
duties. But what has the bad winter weather in 
store for us ? 

It would be demanding superhuman virtue from 
the captains to expect them to like these .visits 
on the high seas. We delay them, we bore them, 
and sometimes we turn them away 'from their 
route. Ordinarily they show us a very surly face ; 
too polite a mien, on the other hand, is to be dis- 
trusted. The officer readjusts his disordered uni- 
form, controls his ill-humor, assumes an impassive 
air, and gives a military salute. 

** Captain," he says, **have tke kindness to show 
me your papers." 

This formula is pronounced in English, 
Spanish, Italian or French. Grammar«sometimes 
suffers, but not all the world is polyglot. When 
the visiting officer has exhausted all his vocab- 
ularies without anyone's understanding him, he 
contents himself with a gesture, reinforced by 
a contraction of his brows in the direction of his 
revolver. Thereupon intelligence comes to the 
most obtuse. A little procession forms. The cap- 
tain looking important, the officer severe^ the com- 



54 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

missary obsequious, tlie sailor escort bringing up 
the rear ; by means of the passage and stairs these 
four actors in the little drama reach the naviga- 
tion room, where are kept the regulation papers. 
The more luxurious liners sometimes set a table 
with cigars and liqueurs in the first cabin. Such 
an attention arouses double suspicion. 

The passengers line up along the deck. This 
episode makes a pleasant interruption in the 
monotony of the voyage, and gives their pacific 
minds a slight shuddering taste of the great war. 
Every man begins to feel like a hero, and to invent 
a tale which mil astonish his future hearers. The 
men search the face of the French officer, but read 
little on this cold mask. The women, bolder, 
solicit his glances, his smile, press themselves on 
his attention. * * Vive la France ! ' ' cries one. * ^ He 
has a real revolver ! ' ' whispers another, shudder- 
ing. ' * Stop, officer, and let me photograph you ! ' ' 
begs a third. 

The visiting officer does not reply, does not 
stop, but hastens on his mission. In his register 
he consults the original of all the documents he 
has warrant to verify; text, stamps, signatures 
are exactly reproduced, and not one word of the 
ship's papers must differ from the original. If 
they are in Arabic, Norwegian or Japanese, the 
officer's pencil compares them line by line. In 
curt phrases he approves or objects. 

The civil status of the ship seems correct; its 



IN THE ADRIATIC 55 

name, its country, its record, reveal nothing am- 
biguous. The captain is then questioned. Whence 
has he come, where is he going, and where has 
he stopped? What are the owners' orders? 
The chart and the log, the dates and hours 
of calls at ports, certified by the official 
authorities, are all verified. The slightest in- 
accuracy requires explanations, proofs. In such 
times as these, all movements at sea must be 
above suspicion, and the least evasion renders 
one suspect. To help his captain the ship's com- 
missary bustles about, pours a glass of liqueur, un- 
corks a bottle of champagne, introduces a foaming 
glass between two incisive questions. But the 
French officer courteously waves aside these 
seductions. 

The commissary in his turn goes on the stand; 
he spreads out and explains the bills of mer- 
chandise, illegible scrawls in every language, 
dotted with strange abbreviations, with obsolete 
weights and measures in the jargon of grocer and 
manufacturer. Every line has them, and twenty 
special dictionaries could not disclose their traps. 
Like an archaeologist poring over a worn stone, 
the visiting officer weighs, unravels, interprets 
these hieroglyphics; from a pocket-book he ex- 
tracts lists of shippers and consignees friendly to 
our enemies, and inspects the ship 's papers to see 
that their names do not figure on them. 

Every bill of merchandise raises a question. 



56 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

Certain cargoes always go through, others under 
certain conditions, some, officially contraband, are 
fair booty. The texts of the treaties of The Hague 
and of London pretend to solve all these prob- 
lems. The officer consults these texts, looking for 
helpful suggestions. But these treaties, dra^\Ti up 
in times of peace for the despair of sailors in war, 
are full of ambiguities, over which the crafty 
neutrals slide. How many enigmas does not the 
officer have to solve in a few minutes under the 
dull gaze of his two colleagues ! 

According to such and such a paragraph the 
ease appears clear, but a footnote throws every- 
thing into confusion again. There are neither 
precedents nor regulations. Upon our decision 
rests a fraction of our country's honor. Too much 
good nature runs us the risk of providing our 
enemies with valuable materials; too much rigor 
will bring vigorous complaints from injured 
neutrals. Let our decision leave a loophole in the 
dispute, and learned jurists will deliberate over 
it in the prize-courts for weeks and months ; then 
will consume endless hours and heaps of paper 
before discovering Avhat ought to be the judgment 
actually rendered in the interval between a 
drenching in a long-boat and a submarine scare. 

Bah! We have our privileges of State. Our 
conscience is clear, our intentions are pure, and 
little remorse accompanies our verdicts. Yester- 
day, as well as to-morrow, we make a seizure or 



IN THE ADRIATIC 57 

release, according to the simple dictates of com- 
mon sense. The smiles and grimaces of the com- 
missary do not warp our judgments; even when 
the captain, at a critical moment, presses on ns 
a whole box of choice Havana cigars this seduc- 
tion adds not a grain to our weighing-scale. The 
officer politely declines, ends his examination, 
makes his decision, and demands the passenger 
list. 

* * Captain, have the kindness to draw up on deck 
all the persons on board. Let each one hold his 
identification papers in his hand. In five minutes 
I shall make my inspection." 

Women, stewards and waiters scatter through 
the cabins, which suddenly fill with commotion. 
In the midst of a chorus of exclamations, of mur- 
murs and laughs, feverish fingers ransack writing 
cases and bags; travelers with good consciences 
easily discover what they need ; the women adjust 
their hair, hastily powder a suspicion of tan on 
their faces, and with a turn of their hand put all 
the details of their toilette in order. They are 
tremendously entertained. It's like a real play! 
For a very little more they would put on their 
prettiest gowns. . . . But the officer is in a hurry, 
and the captain excuses himself: one passenger 
cannot lay his hand on his passports, which he has 
certainly shut up in a trunk. Exactly ! The story 
is well-known! That bird from Germany must 
be held. 



58 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

Everyone lines up in two or more rows. Irre- 
sistibly, an order rises to the lips of the visiting 
officer — ' ' Right dress ! Eyes front ! ' ' But no, these 
passengers are not soldiers. And now the task is 
to keep in line this fat lady in a rather short 
skirt, who inserts herself between an asthmatic 
youth and a rugged American. Let us stifle our 
laughter ! The lines sway, somewhere at the back 
a boy sneezes, two Brazilians or Argentinians 
burst into shameless laughter, a huge negro 
trembles with fear. The officer passes on his 
inspection. 

Like a row of blind people holding out their 
wooden bowls, everyone carries his passport in 
his hand. The men are extremely grave, almost 
indignant, and one can imagine the silent per- 
turbation behind their brows. They lie in wait 
for an imprudent word in order that they may 
at once invoke their counsel, their ambassador, 
and the unwritten laws of neutrals. Vain hope! 
The officer looks them over swiftly, and opens 
their papers with a scrupulous touch. Stamps and 
signatures are correct, the descriptions too; the 
passports, the certificate of nationality, have no 
taint of fraud. But no touchstone is worth so 
much as that of speech : to expert ears a few words, 
a few phrases, reveal many secrets, and a hesi- 
tating manner accuses where the documents 
acquit. 

''Kindly tell me where you come from. . . . 



IN THE ADRIATIC 59 

Kindly tell me your name and the date of your 
birth. . . . Did you leave your country some time 
ago? Kindly answer me in your own language. 
. . . What is your profession T' 

One has to question closely and in various ways, 
and keep oneself from getting into dialogues. 
There is never a discussion; an immediate judg- 
ment, and we go on. 

Compatriots, Russians, English, undergo the 
questioning. They are cheerful and anxious to 
chat. 

^^In too much of a hurry, my friend! ... A 
handshake and bon voyage! . . . The last news 
from the wireless? . . . Everything goes well, 
very well ! ' ' 

Click! Click! Right and left, the kodaks are 
at work. Who will ever count the albums in which 
playful passengers have put their naval inspec- 
tion! They imagine they have not been seen, but 
their faces, suddenly serious, and their air of hav- 
ing touched nothing, betray their crime. 

**And you, mademoiselle? What signatures on 
your passport? What journey are you making?" 

*^I am from Valparaiso, and I am on my way 
to my family in Moscow!" 

Ye gods! What are all these women doing 
wandering about the vast world? Half the 
soldiers in Europe have thrown themselves on the 
other half, but travelers come and go like doves, 
without thought of trouble. 



60 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

The passports of the men are comprehensible 
— functionaries, manufacturers going from port 
to port, mobilized men, producers from the Far 
East; all avow intentions which are definite and 
easy to deal with. But the origin and destination 
of the women are puzzling enigmas. In America, 
in Asia, in Africa, all the chancelleries of remote 
consulates have written ove;r and scratched out 
the most bewildering itineraries. These papers 
are fantastic. 

The mystery is increased by the contradictions 
of the passengers' appearance. The visiting 
officer examines a modest passenger in tennis 
shoes, flannel suit and traveling cap, who blushes 
like a boarding-school miss, and answers very 
timidly. And what does he see on the photograph 
of the passport she shows him? A smiling doll, 
buried under a hat as large as a millstone, 
adorned with aigrettes and feathers; a very 
elaborate arrangement of the hair which hides 
half her face, and three rows of pearls on her 
bare throat. Is there anything in common be- 
tween this luxurious figure and the timid person 
wringing her hands in the line, whose inward 
mirth appears in her sparkling eyes and an im- 
perceptible trembling of her elbows? He would 
be a perjurer who would swear to it. 

It is even a relief when they know their o^vn 
nationality exactly. I never suspected that one's 
native country could be mislaid, lost and found 



IN THE ADRIATIC 61 

like a pair of gloves. But in these latitudes one 
learns something every day. Wars, treaties, and 
revolts, have so confused the map of the East that 
it seems as if every passenger were provided with 
two or three spare countries. 

**Now, Madam, will you explain for your hus- 
band, whom I do not understand! What is his 
nationality? And you yourself, are you Turkish, 
Egyptian, Greek or EussianT' 

^^It is very simple, Mr. Officer. My husband 
was Armenian, that is to say, a Turkish subject. 
At the time of the massacres he fled to the 
Caucasus and found it wise to put himself under 
Eussian protection. His business called him to 
Crete, which became Greek while he was living 
there. I was born in Macedonia, a Turkish sub- 
ject, but the last war has made me a Serb. We 
went to Alexandria because it was quieter there, 
for since the English are suzerains of Egypt, we 
intended. . . /' 

So goes the story. Adventuresses, spies, or 
wanderers tossed about in Levantine eddies, their 
talk is as picturesque as their papers. It would 
be absurd to persecute them in this maze where 
they are astray. 

To what end, moreover? The real prize, the 
choice booty, is recognized by infallible signs: 
German faces, Teutonic accents, insolent or 
honeyed replies, stammered explanations. How- 
ever much they may have garbled their names and 



62 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

submitted to us false ones in writing, the race 
of these Germans oozes from every pore. They 
are on their way to foment rebellion in Egypt 
or m Tripoli ; they are going to work the Balkans, 
to pursue in India or China their secret intrigues. 
Invariably their passports derive from Switzer- 
land or Holland, but their certificates of national- 
ity, very new, just off the press, remind one of 
coins that are counterfeit and too bright. Sus- 
pects ! . . . The officer goes down to their cabins ; 
everything he finds in the valises, the steamer 
trunks, denotes innocence and sincerity. But he 
is nauseated by a strange odor. It cannot be 
defined, but whoever has smelt it recognizes un- 
erringly the kind of flesh it comes from. With 
handkerchief to nose; he turns over the bed and 
ransacks the furniture. Under the mattress, be- 
hind the wash-basin, in the folds of a blanket, lies 
the fatal paper, the envelope or the packet. . . . 
Enemies! . . . 

Now the affair must be ended decisively, 
elegantly, in the French style. Invested with dis- 
cretionary powers on a neutral boat, the visiting 
ofiScer conforms to courtesies which would satisfy 
the most exacting. His attitude, the tone of his 
voice, his words, affirm, in surroundings often hos- 
tile, always excited, the sovereign will of his coun- 
try. The staff-officer of the boat, the crew 
and the passengers form a hostile jury of free 
witnesses who would jeer to the ends of the earth 



IN THE ADRIATIC 63 

the slightest clumsiness. But we are at any rate 
V£iin enough not to imitate the ruffianly manners 
of our enemies. 

The visiting officer stops before the German, 
callis him by name, lays a finger lightly on his 
sleeve or shoulder, and says, without raising his 
voice : 

^'I take you prisoner. Follow my sailor, who 
will carry your baggage and conduct you to the 
ship's boat.'' 

Cries, bursts of rage, insults, are of no avail. 
One adds nothing. What is said is said. At the 
worst, if the scene becomes painful, the officer 
turns to the captain. 

* * Commandant, I direct you to use your author- 
ity to compel Monsieur to follow me. Otherwise 
I shall be obliged to use force. I take the respon- 
sibility for the order I give you, and I will draw 
up tor you a report of the proceedings." 

That is enough. Protected by the owners 
and his government, the captain abandons the 
prisoner to his fate, and speeds the removal of 
his baggage. The German taken in the snare 
protests, sheepish and mortified. But the faithful 
sailor has already seized him and is hurrying him 
mthout much ado to the long-boat. The audience 
makes comments. The kodaks work their fastest. 
A few hands applaud, a few malcontents murmur. 
The circle opens deferentially before the officer, 
who copies on the log the formulas appropriate 



64 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

to the visit, recounts the incident, exonerates the 
captain, and signs the deposition wliich will go 
the round of the chancelleries. 

Then, and only then, when the business is all 
settled, will he accept perhaps a cigarette, or a 
file of newspapers, or a cup of coffee. While the 
prisoner ^s baggage is being somehow tumbled into 
the bottom of the long-boat, the officer takes a 
few steps along the deck. The crowd of pas- 
sengers precipitate themselves upon his suddenly 
humanized person. **News! News!^' implore all 
the voices. He repeats the mreless messages re- 
ceived from the Eiffel Tower, from Poldhu, and 
is careful to make no comments. As if by magic, 
the misses, the donnas and senoras of all the na- 
tions and of every type of beauty slide under his 
hand a pencil, albums, post-cards. He defends 
himself. They beg with alluring glances. Must 
he not yield? Feverishly he scrawls, signs, dates 
the cards and albums. He is promised photo- 
graphs — ^wliich he never receives. Sly scissors 
clip from his coat a button to mount on a hatpin. 
Families invite him to the Ukraine, to California, 
to Buenos Aires, after the war is over. 

Finally the sailor escort returns: *^ Ready!" 
he says, saluting. 

The officer pushes his way through the crowd, 
throws his leg over the rail, commences his tumb- 
ling descent. On the seat of the boat the prisoner, 
quite still, takes up the least possible room. 



IN THE ADRIATIC 65 

**You may continue your voyage !'' cries the 
visitor to tiie captain, who is awaiting his release. 

More questions, and farewells; a waving of 
scarfs and handkerchiefs. But he is already in 
the hollow of the waves; he wipes the spray from 
his face, and, raising his cap, makes a fine salute 
of farewell to all these passengers whom he will 
never see again. 

Ten minutes later the boat with its prisoner 
is hoisted on board. The of&cer reports to his 
commandant, and at once draws up his statement. 
The cruiser begins to move, heading west; the 
liner recedes to the south, and soon Ave see nothing 
but her smoke. For several hours we prowl about, 
expecting the same ceremony to recommence. 
Five or six times a day we stop, make a visit, 
permit them to go on, or show our teeth. There 
are some amusing and some dramatic adventures, 
but for a few profitable visits how many futile 
ones there are! Yesterday in battle; always on 
the watch ; a beast hunting for prey ; tlie customs 
officer of the high sea; traveling ceaselessly; 
never in port — such is the lot of the cruiser. Who 
of us reckoned on this as v/ar? No one, I swear. 

North of Corfu, 30 October. 
Was it not a dream from which we have just 
emerged? For several days — no, I must be mis- 
taken — for a few hours tlie JValdecJc-Rousseau has 
been lying in the harbor of Malta, and our feet 



66 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

have trod the ground, the shore, the sidewalks. 
Fifty-three days at sea had persuaded us that 
everything in the world is in motion. One has 
to be a sailor to appreciate the delights of the 
shore. 

It was in fact a dream. To-night finds us again 
on our patrol, between the coasts of Epirus and 
Corfu. Our rest is brief, we move very slowly, 
the screws seem almost asleep, and during my 
watch, from ten in the evening until two in the 
morning, the cruiser has slipped through magni- 
ficent shadows. 

This sea is too lovely. Anxious to solace our 
exile with her feminine caresses, she shows us 
from hour to hour a delicious and ever-changing 
countenance. In moments of alarm and trial she 
succeeds in pervading us with her gentle consola- 
tion. But to-day, far from the Austrian coast, 
everything seems kindly, and the sailor can 
abandon himself to the magic of the shadows. Not 
a sound, not a breath, in these happy moments. 
Nature never slumbers so softly as on the sleep- 
ing waves, and the most smothered words are too 
noisy to express this silence. The sea opens 
languorously at our prow, and receives us 
amorously, so to speak, in her watery arms, which 
embrace us tenderly along our hull. The reflec- 
tions of the stars, which ordinarily rock without 
ceasing up and down the ridges of water, stand 
motionless in it like nails of light. The coast is 



IN THE ADRIATIC 67 

mirrored in tlie black element, reversed so per- 
fectly that the land and Us image seem cut from 
the same block. Epirus, Corfu and Merlera sur- 
round us in an immense circle, enclosing us al- 
most as in a lake. But this lake is filled with a 
limpid water that extends from the shores of 
yesterday to the cliffs of to-morrow. 

Enlarged in the transparent air, the stars seem 
to have come down nearer to us; the moon does 
not disturb the happy shadow. The star Sirius 
rises in the heavens, detached suddenly from the 
mountains like a slow rocket. She is round like 
some heavenly fruit, and the beacons on the coast 
are dim before this queen of our heaven. 

On the Balkan cliif, halfway up the side of the 
mountain, flames a red light. Evidently it is a 
conflagration ; in some little valley a wretched vil- 
lage is burning and expiring. Is it Albanian, 
Greek or Epirote? Some bandits with torches 
have set on fire the first barn on their path; 
the thatch, the mud walls, the dim huts, are con- 
sumed in whirlwinds, and the starlight is stained 
with streaks of smoke. The herds up there bleat 
and bellow in the flames; disheveled mothers 
carry off their nurslings ; the men load their guns 
and unloose the dogs. To-morrow, in reprisal, 
another hamlet will be burned. 

We are so far away, so lost in the night, that 
this sinister fire does not affect us at all. Why 
pity or curse, when distance smothers all sound? 



68 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

Yet how can we help being carried back to the 
obsession of the war, which the sea, the sky, and 
the stars, had banished from the present moment? 
Have not these distant flames been lighted by the 
incendiary of Berlin, and do they not portend the 
track of murder that will soon soak the East in 
blood? 

But on this night I do not wish to abandon 
myself to sorrow. I wish to let my whole being 
slip into the rich blackness, and to ask of it the 
serenity demanded for the coming danger. Be- 
fore da'SATi a velvety freshness creeps up, and 
banishes my insidious fatigue. This freshness of 
the end of night seems to make still smoother the 
surface of the sea, in which are sunk the reflec- 
tions of the stars, clear, numberless, white as wax. 
Sparkling above each taper, every star recalls the 
flame which trembles on Christian altars at dusk, 
when the tardy penitent cannot distinguish the 
dim Avick between the wax and the flre. Among 
the unreal columns of this Adriatic temple glides 
the cruiser. 

This temple has neither nave, organ, nor pave- 
ment. The chandeliers have burned there since 
the first breath of things. The tabernacle is the 
immensity wherein swing the divine planets. The 
nameless architect is God, who has soAvn the stars 
near His throne in order that the humble regard 
of men shall be lifted to Him. 



IN THE ADRIATIC 69 

Among the Austrian Islands, 2 November, 
It is dawn. We are moving in a long file to- 
wards the Austrian islands. From cruiser to 
cruiser the cocks are calling and answering each 
other. As their clear call salutes the dawn, it is 
accompanied by the cackling of our poultry-yard. 
In the fresh air the melancholy cattle are low- 
ing, and the restless sheep are bleating; each of 
our dinners diminishes their number. To the 
officers on watch there rises the country smell 
from the henhouses, the cattle manure, and the 
hay, their fodder ; and the air is filled with all the 
sounds of an awakening farm. Into the preoc- 
cupations of the watch creep precious memories 
and nostalgia ; one would like to be in some coun- 
try place, surrounded by meadows and woods, and 
one wants to close one's eyes so that nothing may 
destroy the dream. 

But it is the green sea that forms our meadows ; 
and the Dalmatian Isles, which emerge from the 
mist, are the groves of our horizon. The three 
big cruisers with six stacks are in the upper 
Adriatic, at the approaches to Lissa, a bastion of 
the Austrians on that sea, over which we sail with- 
out opposition. Further south, toward the isles 
of Lagosta or Pelagosa, the armored squadrons 
move at reduced speed. Once again, the tenth or 
twentieth time — we have lost count — the French 
*^ naval army'' emerges from the dawn and offers 
the challenge they will not accept. 



70 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

Only a short distance away, Lissa wakens under 
our eyes. Pleasant wooded slopes clothe this 
island ; a tiny town, the principal place, surrounds 
a quiet harbor. We do not need our glasses to 
count the houses or even the windows ; the people 
who come into the streets raise their hands to 
Heaven at sight of us and retreat behind their 
doors, which they barricade. The ribbon of water 
separating us from the shore is hardly broader 
than a river, and without taking aim our guns 
could pulverize houses and people. The Ger- 
mans, in our place, would assure themselves a 
tremendous triumph, which their journals would 
celebrate in the list of German victories. But the 
French are incorrigible; they will never learn 
these illustrious methods, and will never destroy 
defenseless cities and men. Think what you will, 
our gospel contains no such precept. 

Our division is accompanied by two squadrons 
of destroyers; they make their presence known 
by doing legitimate damage. The lighthouse of 
Lissa might assist the movement of Austrian 
ships at night; the cable can transmit to the ar- 
senals news of the movements of the French fleet. 
Our destroyers do not hesitate to destroy these 
tools of war. Their guns thunder against the 
lighthouse; their dredges search for the cable at 
the bottom of the sea. To emphasize the ease 
with which we approach the enemy, small French 
vessels enter the harbor of Lissa with a haughty 



IN THE ADRIATIC 71 

air. The fislierfolk and other people on tlie coast 
are terrified ; no one expects mercy ; everyone com- 
mends his soul to God. From the bridge the 
officers of the cruiser observe all this excitement; 
they see swarms of people fleeing into the country, 
where our guns could nail them like flies against 
the wall. It all makes us smile. Our sailors are 
quietly washing their linen, or gaily chattering. 
Like their officers, they are savoring the delicious- 
ness of this quiet morning, in front of this island 
filled with sunlight and with terror. Their gener- 
ous souls do not desire the destruction of this 
defenseless town. But at the bottom of their 
hearts and their talk lies a question which three 
months of naval warfare had not solved — *^What 
must be done to these Austrians to make them 
revenge themselves ? Will they make us no return 
for our insults r' 

An officer and some sailors from the destroyers 
set foot on land. The population is humble and 
suppliant. We ask them the names and addresses 
of the two principal notables of the island, and 
immediately the notables are made known to us. 
No threats or revolvers! Everything goes off 
admirably. The two notables are brought before 
the chief of the French detachment ; they tremble 
at first, but the courteous firmness of the all- 
powerful sailor reassures and conquers them. 
When it is announced to them that the Navy will 
hold them as hostages, they are not afraid to 



72 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

deliver themselves over to the good faith of men 
who do not abuse the rules of war. When we 
demand from Lissa a contribution of twenty-five 
thousand francs, they give it themselves, in hard 
cash of full weight, convinced that this gold is not 
passing into the pockets of highwajnuen. When 
they are asked to deliver themselves up on board 
the torpedo-destroyers, they are given time to 
dress in their best clothes, to embrace their wives 
and children, and to assure the city that the enemy 
cruisers will not bombard it. In this little corner 
of the world where fate confers upon us these 
extraordinary powers, a few hours are sufficient 
to make the people our friends. If by any chance 
French victory should mean that the tricolor is 
planted on this island, it will float on friendly 
soil there. 

Morning passes. Halted before the harbor of 
Lissa, the three cruisers wait while the destroyers 
finish their task at leisure. Midday sounds. Be- 
yond doubt, the Austrian bases of Cattaro, Pola, 
and Sebenico have been notified of our action. 
The early hours of the afternoon pass. No enemy 
squadron appears to take up the challenge. 
Will our armed forces below the horizon have to 
wait in vain for the wireless announcing that our 
enemy will avenge the insult offered their terri- 
tory? Is France really at war with Austria? The 
commander of the squadrons comes to make his 
report to the rear-admiral of the Waldeck-Rous- 



IN THE ADRIATIC 73 

seaii. He tells of the terror of the inhabitants of 
Lissa, their meekness, the taking of two hostages 
on board his destroyer. Our wireless requests 
supplementary orders from the Commander-in- 
Chief. Suddenly, emerging from the maze of the 
Austrian islands, appear at last two columns of 
smoke. All the glasses and telescopes are turned 
towards these longed-for shadows. Our hearts 
leap; our eyes fear they are mistaken. But no! 
The enemy is replying to the insult. Numerous 
masts are graven on the horizon. Everyone sees 
them rise, and whenever a new one appears utters 
a cry of joy. Five! Ten! Fifteen! Eighteen! 
The great Day has come. 

The sun shines brightly. Not a ripple breaks 
the sea. Our rear-admiral hoists signals of chase 
and combat, the division of cruisers and two 
squadrons of destroyers advance with all speed 
toward the hostile smoke. As yet we do not know 
the strength, the number, the armament, of this 
enemy who offers battle. What matter! The 
tops of its stacks cover the northwest sky. We 
must hasten to the fray. If our first engagement 
is not victorious, the wireless calls we send to the 
battleships will bring them hurriedly to the vic- 
tory we have led up to with our first attack. Joy- 
ous trumpets sound to clear the decks for action; 
the ships of France hoist the shield of battle, the 
national flag, perfectly new, at the junction of 
two masts. In a few minutes all the men are 



74 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

running to their posts. They laugh, they sing, 
they are crazy with excitement. But hardly have 
they reached their apparatus than they have re- 
gained the silence of duty. Firemen at the fires, 
engineers at the engines, gunners at the guns, 
have prompt arms, steady spirits, and alert eyes. 
Along the hull the spray leaps and glides, like 
the road beside an automobile. In the turret 
the commandant, the firing officers, and the 
maneuver officer, await anxiously the moment 
when they will recognize the enemy as he presents 
himself to us. They w^ant to increase the speed 
of the ship, but our screws are already turning 
madly ; they cannot add a millimeter to our speed. 
At last, on the curve of the sea, are clearly drawn 
the outlines of our enemy. 

Alas ! They are nothing but destroyers ! Rapid 
and powerful destroyers, indeed; but Austria 
could have afforded to offer us antagonists equal 
to ourselves. Let us be content with the windfall. 
Too many days have been squandered against in- 
visible enemies. These are real, living, and full 
of fight. They gallop towards us, with torpedoes 
leveled. We point our guns, which cannot yet 
reach them. The match is even. Like us, they 
have hoisted the flag of battle ; and the Waldech- 
Ttoiisseau, springing over the water like a full- 
blooded steed, leads the cruisers and the two 
squadrons to the adventure where death awaits. 

A few minutes of anxious silence pass. Shut 



IN THE ADRIATIC 75 

in the cells below, the men listen, trying to catch 
the heavy sound of the first broadside ; they would 
be killed in an instant if a well-aimed torpedo 
should touch the cruiser, but they devote their 
stalwart souls to the machinery and the engines, 
that no one may be wanting in this crisis. 
Through their telescopes the gun-pointers watch 
the distance vanishing as if by miracle. Twenty 
thousand meters. . . . Eighteen thousand. . . . 
Fifteen thousand. . . . Fourteen thousand. . . . 
Only .two thousand more, and the rattle of our 
artillery will rain upon the enemy. In three 
parallel lines the Austrian destroyers throw out 
torrents of smoke, which seem to merge ; each line 
glides over the blue water like a shining serpent. 
Around us our own destroyers have closed up, and 
are plowing up clods of spray silvered by the 
sunlight. 

But what is this! The Austrian lines swerve, 
deflect; their head makes a great curve! Is it 
possible? They would retreat! They would re- 
fuse an engagement! We are so angry that our 
eyes refuse to believe the retreat. It is an illusion 
of the light; a jest of the wind that makes the 
smoke bend. Not at all. They complete the circle, 
turn their backs on us, and fly off at top speed 
like three trains along their rails of foam. 

Oh I To have this revenge in sight for so many 
futile weeks, and then to see it escape just at 
the point where our guns cannot reach! To feel 



76 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

that the great engines under our feet, strong as 
they are, are unable to catch the prey, because 
its legs are too long! To measure the distance, 
and feel it increase a little with every second, like 
an elastic band of air stretched between us ! Four- 
teen thousand meters ! 

Fourteen thousand one hundred. . . . Fourteen 
thousand two hundred. Ah! we should like to 
be able to control the waves, to throw into the 
air a sudden squall, to chop up a sea of billows 
and swells. Our o\\ai powerful keels would not 
be slowed down, but the destroyers would run 
foul of each crest of the waves, would slacken, 
become exhausted, and our mettle would triumph 
over their cowardice. 

They make speed towards the labyrinth of the 
Dalmatian Isles, which loom before us as a family 
of marine monsters might emerge from the water. 
We continue the pursuit. Sixteen thousand 
meters. . . . Seventeen thousand meters. . . . 
Perhaps remorse or faintness will seize the 
cowards. But no, their confusion is a premedi- 
tated ruse. Up in the slr^'', gliding and descending 
through the transparent clouds, an aviator drops 
toward the French ships, enfilades them, and lets 
fall on us bombs which only the cleverest tacking 
evades; they burst against the hulls. One of the 
cruisers catches the wake of a periscope on the 
surface of the water. It may be that some prow- 
ling submarine has already fired its torpedoes, 



IN THE ADRIATIC 77 

and our speed has deluded it; no one is affected. 
We shell the path of this streak of foam, which 
immediately vanishes. The submarine flees below 
the water, the aeroplane is already out of sight, 
the destroyers are nearing the entrance to the 
islands. Eighteen thousand meters. . . . Nineteen 
thousand. . . . Each second of pursuit increases 
the danger, the useless danger which has no 
chance of reward. It is becoming evident that 
this Parthian flight leads us into the zone where 
other submarines are prowling, and other aviators 
lurking, w^here slumber dangerous mines, which 
can inflict slaughter without stirring from their 
position. Why excite ourselves? We are rush- 
ing towards a death that will bring no glory to 
the Navy, no benefit to France. Austria will have 
a victory which will not even have acJietee son 
courage. 

The rear-admiral has the signals hoisted. While 
the Austrian destroyers are hidden in the straits 
into which they hope to draw us, our cruisers and 
destroyers make a wide detour in the offing; our 
engines carry us disdainfully away from these 
coasts Yviiich shelter no gallant enemy. One by 
one, from the depths of the ship, the men who 
have been enclosed during the combat come out 
again. They have seen and heard nothing, and 
they eagerly ask the news. The sailors on deck 
talk to them in a low voice. Their cheeks turn 
pale, they clench their hands, their eyes flash with 



78 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

rage. The dejected crew moves silently up and 
down. Their faces are melancholy, their hearts 
sore, their nerves seem to have lost their spring. 

At twilight, a few hours later, we call together 
the ** naval army.^' By means of the mreless 
messages sent during our chase, the ships have 
followed with passionate interest the enthusiasm, 
effort, dangers, and disappointments we have 
been through. Ready enough to help us, and to 
give the Austrian fleet a good reception had it 
come out, they are awaiting us for still another 
descent of the Adriatic, also to be unfruitful, like 
so many others. For half an hour, under the 
golden beams of the setting sun, the squadrons 
go through the usual maneuvers and get their sail- 
ing orders for the night. The majestic, supple 
lines cross one another, approach and recede upon 
the parade ground of the sea. Every movement 
is perfect; the scene resembles a procession of 
moving cathedrals. In the evening light the hulls 
take on all the colors of stained endows. The 
water is strewn with azure and purple flowers. 
The signals run up and do^\ii the masts. Into 
the sky rise curls of smoke. A religious silence 
prevails. 

The night falls. Up among the islands, en- 
veloped in mist, the Austrians can observe our 
contemptuous evolutions and our dignified de- 
parture. Not one of our movements displays any 
disquietude. Let this sorry enemy dare to rouse 



IN THE ADRIATIC 79 

us, and they will find, at any hour of day and 
night, something to talk about ! But we are learn- 
ing to know them. Lazily the battleships and 
destroyers spread over the broad surface of the 
Adriatic and begin their majestic descent. This 
morning the cruisers were to northwards, in the 
vanguard. This evening they are deployed to the 
south, wliere their vigilance will win them some 
consolation for the afternoon. 

Off Bari, 3 November; 
four o'clock in the morning. 

Thank God, I was on watch during the dark 
hours of the night. I should never have been able 
to abandon myself to sleep. For the disappoint- 
ment of yesterday left me full of an exaltation 
there was no real battle to exhaust, and a thou- 
sand disconnected ideas raced through my brain. 
Even yet, after four hours of watching disturbed 
by alarms, I cannot find an instant of repose on 
my bed. I rise and come to talk with the con- 
fidante who is always ready, this notebook, which 
has received the confession of all my moods. Per- 
haps after this one-sided conversation my mind 
will become calmer and forget itself in sleep. But 
I am not sure. For we do not really know how 
to put ourselves to sleep. 

I envy the soldiers on the solid land, confront- 
ing an enemy present before them. Whether he 
hides or reveals himself, the conflict is not slow 



80 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

in coming. They rush forward, they sing and 
shout; they thrust out their bayonets, they bite, 
and trample with their feet. At the moment of 
killing it is delicious to become a beast, to think 
no longer, to dry with a single gesture the sweat 
from one's brow, and the blood from one's 
wounds. But the sailors spend their energies in 
a long silent waiting. The more active they are, 
the more profound is their silence. The nearness 
of death makes them machines of precision. 

I envy the soldiers who salute while charging 
their fallen enemy. They have seen him coming. 
Their short duel ends either in the intoxication 
of victory or the repose of death. Our long jour- 
neys are furtive steps in a temple of phantoms. 
Those who want to slay us crawl in the heart of 
liquid shadows. Those who defy us refuse an 
encounter, and entice us into the snares of the 
sea. 

Night lags on the Adriatic. Nothing seems to 
live except our dreams. With elbows on the rail, 
eyes lost in the vastness, the officers of the cruisers 
keep somber and silent. Near their guns, motion- 
less as statues sculptured out of shadow, the 
gunners watch in vain, and reflect on the disap- 
pointments of yesterday. In the distance there 
is a splendid thunderstorm. Forks of light leap 
from Italy to Austria ; not a thunder peal echoes, 
but the air is alternately vivid and dark. The 



IN THE ADRIATIC 81 

lightning comes and goes ceaselessly, like the 
winking of an electric giant. Black and white, 
white and black, the V/aldeclc-Rousseaii glides 
through a gleaming sea. Are there enemies about 
us? Is the sea safe? How can our eyes tell, as 
they pass from an illumination whiter than the 
sun into an opaqueness blacker than nothingness? 
Every electric shock jangles the strings of our 
taut nerves. A reflection on the water takes the 
form of a destroyer; the straight path of the 
lightning shoots like a rocket of the enemy; the 
shadow has the thickness, the consistency, and 
almost the odor of smoke from a hostile ship. 

demons of the atmosphere, how you play with 
the sailors! Over there, towards the north, the 
watchers on the battleships have felt their hearts 
expand and contract with each of your shining 
caprices. But even greater is the disquietude of 
the cruisers who precede and protect the squad- 
rons. Yesterday Austria saw us. In a grand ges- 
ture she refused us battle. To-night we feel it 
coming, we are sure of it. She has despatched her 
atrocious submarines. They blockade the Adriatic 
and watch for us. When shall Ave fall into their 
claws? In a minute, an hour, a day? We are 
illuminated like specters by every flash, but they 
are buried in the black waves. Both the cruisers 
and the battleships who trust themselves to our 
vigilance are lost in an ocean of illusion. 



82 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

Early in the morning an ensign translates a 
wireless from Malta. By way of numberless 
cables this message brings news from the Pacific. 
Under the massive shadows of the Cordilleras 
of the Andes, three English cruisers were swal- 
lowed up in the Chilean twilight. They fought 
against stronger vessels, but the German guns 
a eu raison de leur valeur. Twelve years ago, 
from the height of the American peaks, I had 
looked over the infinite expanse where this passage 
at arms took place. A few years ago, during a 
cruise to China, I had visited these same British 
vessels. I remember their appearance ; faces that 
smiled at me then are now, no doubt, sleeping 
over there on the threshold of the madrepores; 
fingers which pressed mine are twisting the dark 
sea-weed, the sailor's shroud. I envy those ships. 
I envy the dead of the battle of Coronel. A few 
weeks later, v/e shall know the details of their 
glorious end, but from now on I shall envj^ them, 
for they have fulfilled their destiny. It was not 
vainly that their torn flag shone in the sun. They 
struck, they perished, their eyes have carried mth 
them into the deep the vision of battle ; their death 
transmits a heritage of vengeance to which all 
British sailors are the heirs. 

Why does fate give us in the Adriatic a felon 
enemy that only runs away I Certainly I hate 
the Germans; but at least you find them when 
you look for them. Whereas to draw from the 



IN THE ADRIATIC 83 

depths of the sea the only adversaries that Aus- 
tria sends against us we should need picks and 
rakes. Our magazines are full, our engines are 
quivering, our guns thrust out their jaws, but all 
that crawls in the Adriatic desert is the sub- 
marine. 

Silent lightning flashes, alternate shafts and 
shadows burn our eyelids. The four hours of the 
watch pass. My eyes are fixed on the blackness; 
my dreams encircle the earth every moment. A 
procession of memories has accompanied the 
storm. Perfumes from Indo-China, the theaters 
of Paris, negresses of Guadeloupe, Madagascar 
cyclones, idylls of the West and tragedies of the 
East, tropic homesickness, and the English coun- 
tryside — the whole procession of the past glides 
through my watch. Smiling, mystical, dim, it 
hastens to respond to my mood of nervous fatigue. 
It leaps upon the bridge to companion my soli- 
tude. About all my comrades, about the officers, 
who like me have become hermits of the deep, 
there crowds in the same way the phantoms of 
the past. We do not summon them. They run 
to us, form in line, yield place to otliers ; the train 
of our dreams is more mobile than the sea. Mean- 
while duty does not suffer. The round of 
memories never deflects our eyes or our ears from 
the surface of the waters. When necessary, we 
can scatter the memories with a single gesture, 
and do whatever is needful. 



84 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

In the freshness of the early dawn the breath 
01 the breeze calms all this fever. My mind 
pauses on the last rung of the ladder of memory. 
There it rests, and at the end of my watch I 
find myself back again in a garden of Malta. Ac- 
cording to the calendar this episode dates only 
eight days back, but it seems to me that our life 
has thrown it into the remote past. 

In the midst of the arid rocks of Malta there is 
a garden, enclosed with high walls. The parterres 
of black soil, imported from Sicily, are cut by 
alleys of gravel. On the terrace bloom the rarest 
flowers under the sun. They are not European, 
they are choice specimens from America and Asia. 
The corollas which grow in this garden come only 
from certain Southern archipelagoes, but human 
skill has made them live in Malta. 

Arbors shelter benches of ancient stone. Here 
and there arches of perfume brush the dreamer's 
head. Since it is a place of quiet and sovereign 
beauty, human beings do not frequent it. Every 
evening, before returning to the noisy streets of 
Malta, I spend a few solitary hours in the com- 
pany of the flowers. Only the gardeners disturb 
my revery, but they early become acquainted with 
me. The third evening one offered me the bouquet 
that still perfumes my cabin, and refused my 
grateful reward. 

That evening I was walking at the end of the 
garden, by a fountain with a brim of stone and 



IN THE ADRIATIC 85 

two basins of green water. In it the twilight 
reflections dissolve. The fragrance that lingers 
there is enchanting. On this little lake float two 
white swans. They know that their prison will 
never be larger ; the paddles of their feet are still ; 
their dazzling wings, rose-tinted in the setting sun, 
open like a sail to the breaths of the breeze, and 
they glide very gently, bending their necks as if 
to breathe in the exquisite sweetness of the 
evening. 

A little dog, tawny and silken, ran around the 
fountain, barking at the swans when they skirted 
the rim, at their disdain when they moved towards 
the center of the pool. On a bench a woman 
dressed in mauve was reading a book, turning the 
page slowly. The air held only the last vestiges 
of light. When this woman raised her attentive 
eyes towards the dog, she revealed a sorrowful 
face and eyes heavy with passion. 

I am slightly disturbed by these neighbors, but 
I sit down and abandon myself to the witchery of 
the colors and odors of the dying day. Sorrow 
is solaced by an excess of sorrow, and the exile 
finds joy only in an excess of exile. Solitary, be- 
tween the past and the future, I am at peace. 

There in the fragrance of the garden, the sea, 
the war, the how and why of things, all disappear. 
My thoughts float, mthout support, like the ex- 
halations of flowers which hasten to give out a 
sweet odor before falling asleep. But the little 



86 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

tawny dog, excited by the play of the swans, leaps 
towards the nearest ones, and falls into the water. 
He keeps himself np, paddling ronnd in the same 
place; he scratches at the slippery rim of the 
fountain. Unable to climb out, he whines pite- 
ously. I fish him out by his silky ears. He shakes 
himself, shakes water on my shoes, and the lady 
in mauve rises to thank me. 

Who ever remembers words spoken at twilight? 
She spoke the soft Italian tongue, and I replied in 
kind. Why, as I came from the shores of Malta, 
should I forget French in favor of the tongue of 
Dante and d'Annunzio? The little tawny dog 
followed us. I learned that he is called Jimmino. 

Deep eyes, a face which was not pretty but 
which I thought to be more beautiful than beauty, 
was sometimes raised to mine. We walked along 
together, both weary. Our words were vague, and 
yet each one found its mark. I understood my 
own fatigue ; but what was this woman 's with the 
tragic face? We had not told each other our 
secrets, and yet it seemed that for each other we 
had no more secrets. She was beautifully dressed, 
in rare and simple material. Her jewels were real. 
Night had enveloped us when we reached the gates 
of the town. You wish to know what we said to 
each other on the way? I do not remember. Under 
an electric light in the street, we pressed each 
other's hands; her eyes dominated her pale face, 
and I thought her fingers trembled. Wlio is this 



IN THE ADRIATIC 87 

passer-by whom perhaps I shall never see again, 
and will she take her place in the company of the 
shadows who people the life of the sailor? I do 
not even know her name. 

On the bridge my successor in the watch comes 
to replace me. 

** Speed, twelve knots,'' I say to him. ^* Route, 
to the south. We have passed the light at Bari. 
Range of the guns, fifteen hundred meters. De- 
flection, forty-four and fifty-six. Light wind from 
southwest. Storm continues on the whole horizon. 
Nothing in sight. A good watch to you!" 

And I go down to my cabin. Perhaps after 
two hours of confession on paper, I shall find 
oblivion for this chaos in which my dreams are 
tossed. But I must sleep, for in six hours I stand 
watch again, and the folly of the mind must not 
be allowed to weaken the body. 

3 November, 
four o'clock in the afternoon. 

Well, no! Sleep did not come this morning, 
and all these dreams came near ending in a fatal 
nightmare. 

After a few hours of unquiet rest, I had to rise, 
make a hasty toilet, and swallow what food I 
could before resuming the look-out. In the middle 
of the day I found myself on the bridge I had 
left in darkness a few hours before. The sea was 
silvery in a bright sun. In a spreading line the 



88 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

three cruisers continued tlieir course towards the 
southern end of the Adriatic. Behind us, almost 
invisible on the horizon, the smoke of the ** naval 
army'' made a black smudge. On board, every- 
one not on watch was taking a feiesta, getting con- 
solation in sleep for the disappointments of the 
preceding day. But dozens of eyes were watch- 
ing this calmest of seas. Light mists, idle as the 
feathers of birds, moved here and there on the 
blue sea. A few thousand meters away the Ernest 
Renan followed a parallel course. 

Suddenly in the streaks of foam appeared some- 
thing whiter. My glass at once followed this 
wrinkle on the water ; one would have said it was 
a jet of steam, glistening in the sunlight. I hesi- 
tated a few moments. Perhaps I had been 
deceived by the fin of a porpoise swimming at 
the surface. But the memory of drills during 
peace-times set before my eyes the wake of a 
periscope, and I hesitated no longer. 

**0n watch! To port! Eange, eight hundred 
meters ! Deflection, forty ! The three engines ahead 
full ahead! Close the port stanchions! Open 
fire!" 

The cruiser leaps. Below, the men on watch 
close the port stanchions. The volley of guns 
goes off, and the shells fall round that white mov- 
ing spot. They burst like balls of snow on a 
blue wall. All the men wake from their siesta, 
the ofi&cers come on deck. At several meters from 



m THE ADRIATIC 89 

our hull passes tlie flaky line of a launched tor- 
pedo. It has missed us, but a big 194 shell, fired 
from one of our turrets, bursts just above the 
periscope, which rises, sinks, rises and sinks again, 
like a wounded animal which lifts itself and falls 
back. And then we see nothing more. The blue 
water shows only its usual indolence. Prom the 
Ernest Renan comes to us a burst of hurrahs 
across the air; they have seen the shell tear up 
the water, and have decided that the explosion 
destroyed the submarine. 

We move rapidly, so rapidly that in a very few 
moments the cruiser is far away from the deadly 
spot. The guns turn and follow, ready to fire 
again, but nothing more appears. 

'* Cease fire! Watch ended! Open the port 
stanchions ! Eeturn to course ! The tliree engines 
at sixty revolutions!" 

In a few seconds the cruiser resumes its watch. 
It has just proved that it cannot be caught nap- 
ping, and everything falls back into what appears 
to be somnolence, but a somnolence with eyes wide 
open. Have I sunk an Austrian submarine I I 
shall never know. This deceitful enemy that hides 
itself to strike, and hides itself to die! One at 
least will not attack the precious battleships which 
follow us. 

Towards the east a few minutes later the Jules 
Ferry, a cruiser with four stacks, which has been 
reconnoitering on the other side of the horizon, 



90 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

signals that a torpedo from an invisible submarine 
has passed a few meters from its hull. So there 
were at least two of these invisible enemies, and 
it was the cruisers that baffled their attempt. The 
Commander-in-Chief can descend fearlessly the 
path which we have just swept clear. 

What does one feel on learning in the space 
of less than a minute that a cruiser worth fifty- 
millions and carrying a thousand men has been 
dependent for life on the promptness of an order 
or the intelligence of a maneuver 1 I know noth- 
ing about it, and all those who have knowTi great 
responsibility in this war will understand what 
I mean. A little later on, it seems to me, one 
feels afraid of the peril that is now past. It 
presents itself under terrifying colors which in 
the moment of action one did not see at all. 
Courage is easy enough; you need only get out 
of yourself, think of others, and everything be- 
comes simple. Afterwards you are much fatigued. 
After yesterday's disillusionment, I doubted my 
being able to sleep. To-day, after this danger, 
I am sure to escape insomnia. The phantoms of 
the past will not knock at the door of my memory, 
for I have lived through a great moment of my 
life. I may have saved the Waldech-Rousseau! 

Otranto Canal, 11 November. 
Outside or near the shore, in a peaceful harbor 
or in a roadstead whipped by the winds, a naval 



IN THE ADRIATIC 91 

collier speaks the WaldecJc-Rousseau. For several 
hours coal by the hundreds of tons passes from 
the collier to the ship. After so many days of 
watching and weariness, and of stoking the fires, 
this is the rest which our crews taste. We coal 
in front of Corfu or Paxo, or in some cove of 
Epirus. Each week our insatiable furnaces de- 
mand a thousand tons of coal ; each week we burn 
them up in our futile promenades across the 
Adriatic sea. 

From dawn to dusk our sailors fill sacks in 
the bottom of the collier's hold; their shovels 
and picks labor in the bosom of the black stuff; 
windlasses raise the clumps of sacks, and cast 
them on the deck. There other gangs take charge, 
lower the sacks by chutes into the bowels of the 
WaldecJc, dragging them by hand through the 
labyrinth of passageways, and into the gaping 
jaws of the stores ; at the edge of the store-room 
two men with powerful muscles turn out with one 
stroke a hundred kilos of coal which fall down 
into the darkness amid a cloud of blinding dust. 
Crouched at the bottom of the store-room, other 
sailors receive this dark avalanche, pouring 
minute after minute; they direct it, pile it up in 
empty corners, and, stumbling on the piles, their 
eyes burned by the tar, their mouths poisoned 
with soot, prepare the way for the new torrents 
which are coming. 

You would imagine yourself in a cavern of the 



92 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

infernal regions. Around the cruiser and the 
collier a thick halo sullies the atmosphere. Bound 
together by heavy hawsers, the two boats roll on 
the waves or in the wind like two black swans. 
On the decks and broadsides you see only dark 
forms which move with sluggish gestures; bare 
feet travel furtively the carpet of coal spread over 
the steel; electric lights under a black film throw 
a strange and somew^hat sinister light ; human be- 
ings pass, loaded with heavy sacks, knees bowed, 
eyes and teeth white in a perspiring negro mask; 
they pant and blow and suffer. Their muscles 
are aching with this work fit only for horses, and 
beg for mercy. Yet they sing. At the moment 
when the cloud is heaviest, the odor most acrid, 
and the light most livid, a hoarse young voice rises 
out of the gloom. It attempts the first verses of 
some gay song : * ^ The Young Girls of Eochelle ! ' ' 
*' Queen Pomare!'^ ^^The Gray Lark!'' Eight 
and left, high and low, invisible singers respond. 
The coalholes become alive ; behind the partitions 
of steel a smothered baritone joins its raucous 
tones to those of a tenor armed wdth a pick. And 
in the immense maze of the holds, the broadsides 
and corridors, flows a harmony, at once sad and 
joyous, a memory of France in days of peace. 
There is no conductor and no metronome, but the 
singing is in good time and tune. The cruiser 
vibrates in unison with it. 
When the song is ended, one hears for several 



IN THE ADRIATIC 93 

minutes only indistinct breathings and stampings. 
Sack by sack the tons of coal stock the holds, and 
the monotonous rain accompanies the intermin- 
able labor. 

For Nature begins to grow somber. The worst 
weather has not come yet, but the sky suggests 
the melancholy of winter; the South Wind some- 
times gives place to the North Wind, and we have 
bitter hours. Then the coalings are unspeakably 
dismal ; our beautiful cruiser is clothed in a dusty 
cloak which trails over her hull like a mourning 
mantle; the smoke from the stacks mingles with 
the gusts of coal dust which the w^ind and rain 
plaster over the guns, the cordage, and one's own 
skin. Floods of despair seem to descend from 
the clouds. 

To chase away these evil impressions we go 
to talk with the Captain and the officers of the 
collier. They come from Cardiff or from New- 
castle, are familiar with the ports of England 
and France, have seen our French comrades and 
the British fleets ; they bring us news of the vast 
world. We listen to them eagerly. They too 
belong to the great fraternity of navigators, and 
the tales they tell us are like the Odyssey we 
live. Up there, far up, between Norway and 
Scotland, the English cruisers are keeping inde- 
fatigable watch, and they are less fortunate than 
we. For there the sea is sinister. Around Eng- 
land, without pause or respite, in terrible storms, 



94 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

the Allied destroyers prowl everywhere. Covered 
with spray, laboring through the fog, they con- 
tend with the sea mthout meeting any other 
enemy; and the fleet of Admiral Jellicoe dances 
attendance like our own *^ naval army!'' Igno- 
minious and cowardly, the German enemy hides 
himself, just as here the Austrian burrows away. 
The proud descendants of Nelson await a new 
Trafalgar, and to them the prudence of the Ger- 
mans opposes only hidden enemies, the sub- 
marines. As for our French brothers, the de- 
stroyers and Atlantic cruisers, they journey from 
Calais to Brest without adventure; convoyers of 
transports, policemen of the waves — customs- 
officers of contraband, they do not experience the 
excitements of the Adriatic hunts. Their task, 
more obscure than ours, is also more ungrateful. 
And since the happiness of man is measured by 
the unhappiness of others, we are happy in the 
Adriatic in spite of our disillusion and our exile. 
But the day passes. The Captain of the collier 
offers us the latest papers, \ve give him the last 
wireless messages, and we must separate. 
Whether or not the coaling is ended, the cruiser 
never stands still during the night. We cast off 
the hawser, the screw^s turn ; the crew, black with 
coaldust, go to rest their weary limbs after the 
crushing toil of the boilers, the engines, and the 
watch. And during the rest of the night the 
cruiser makes a hundred or a hundred and fifty 



IN THE ADRIATIC 95 

miles. It matters not whether the sea is calm or 
disturbed, the sky clear or rainy. Men and officers 
observe the same vigilance as they did yesterday 
and will to-morrow ; every boat that is sighted is 
chased, stopped, visited; one takes no account of 
weariness or sleep. One goes steadily on, always 
steadily on. 

And if the thousand or twelve hundred tons 
necessary are not taken on in a single day, we 
return next day to the collier. The rendezvous 
is not at the same place, but in quite a distant 
roadstead or bay, for fear that the enemy, fore- 
warned, will send us a submarine while we are 
practically helpless. In all haste we finish empty- 
ing the coal; the holds are full to the jaws, the 
sailors take courage and forget their weariness 
in a supreme effort. We fortify ourselves again 
for eight or ten days, for the excitements of the 
Adriatic, the dangers of the sea and the torpedoes. 

Everything is impregnated with coal. There 
is no barrier or filter against this microbe. Bath- 
ing in floods of water, brushing and scraping does 
not chase it from its lairs. In our food our teeth 
encounter crunching lumps ; our hair is tarnished 
with a black cosmetic ; and the folds of our whitest 
linen conceal little hoards of soot. Our whitest 
linen! Is there a world where they know the 
pleasure of immaculate shirts'? Of handkerchiefs 
pure as snow? When we set out, each one of us 
took along only what was strictly necessary. Our 



96 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

boxes are few, and in a day we soil more than 
in a week of peace. "Where are the washes of other 
days? where the polite laundresses of the ports, 
who washed the linen and cambric in twenty-four 
hours? Our cruises last eight or nine w^eeks. 

How many times already I have washed in my 
basin two handkerchiefs and a shirt so covered 
with coal dust that the white places spotted it! 
Like all my comrades I have a sailor at my service. 
But he is a good gunner, who only looks after 
me when his duties do not call him elsewhere. 
Every day he has ten hours of lookout and three 
or four of preparation of materials. Must he 
not sleep and eat? When he is free, I try to take 
a few hours of broken rest on my bunk, and he 
respects my sleep. When my cabin is empty, he 
is watching behind his gun. Each one of us 
washes what he can. The soft water we use does 
not come from clear fountains, but from the boiler 
tubes which distil the sea- water ; it stands in great 
metal casks, it is filled with rust and retains the 
color of it. In vain we throw in soap and borax; 
the washed linen turns yellow as if powdered with 
mustard, and it is never quite dry. The falling 
rains, the smoke which sweeps the deck, do not 
permit hanging it outdoors. In my cabin my 
gunner has stretched two strings between the port 
hole and the moulding above my bunk, and up 
there the linen dries as well as it can. Sometimes, 
while I sleep or work, an idle drop falls on my 



IN THE ADRIATIC 97 

face or my paper ; other times the constant vibra- 
tion of the cruiser throws the linen to the coal- 
stained linoleum, and the whole thing has to be 
done over again. In the ^* naval army/' as in 
the trenches, nothing is clean but the wind. 

As in the trenches, too, we try to kill time, 
which lags so terribly. The study of the military 
map is misleading; we are accustomed, as each 
communique is received by wireless, to stick flags 
on the Western and Eastern fronts. The pins 
change every day by a quarter or a tenth of a 
millimeter ; they have made so many holes in the 
paper that one can no longer read the names, and 
we have given up taking them out. Bundles of 
papers arrive in each mail, are quickly read and 
thrown aside ; they feed neither our conversation 
nor our reveries. We brought no books from 
France because we thought them superfluous in a 
short war, and those we have ordered for these 
interminable cruises have not yet come. Letters 
are quickly written when one has nothing much 
to say and the censor forbids details. 

What have we to do except play? Some spend 
their hours off in Patience; it is all one to them 
whether the combinations come out or not. Others 
bend over the chessboard, or become absorbed in 
bridge. But these are unusual kinds of chess and 
bridge; no one ever has time to finish a game. 
The service, the watch, meals, the time for sleep- 
ing, interrupt you; you leave the chess game or 



98 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

the rubber where it is, and another officer takes 
your place. A game commenced mth certain 
partners ends with a completely new set. Winning 
or losing does not matter; one has time only to 
kill, and must think of nothing else. 

Adriatic Sea, 16 November, 
For several weeks now the monotony of our 
vagabondage has been broken by a pleasing dis- 
traction — divine service celebrated every Sunday. 
For the duration of the war the Government has 
appointed on every admiral's ship and every 
hospital ship a volunteer chaplain. Ours arrived 
the middle of October. His name is Mgr. Bolo. 
Without regret he has left his care of feminine 
souls, his delightful home in Touraine, and has 
sought the hard life of the sailors. After a long 
voyage he appeared at some bay in the Ionian 
Isles where we were coaling, and climbed the iron 
ladder of our ship in the thick of the rain and 
soot. For several days, while he was bewildered 
by the mazes of the cruiser, or breathless in his 
stifling cabin, he might have wondered into what 
world he had got. But a serene soul dwelt in his 
athletic body; he quickly got over his confusion, 
and in order to preach better to the sailors, he 
wanted to learn their trade. 

He is constantly asking questions; our jargon, 
the complicated machinery, its mechanism and 
control, do not repel him. His talk is enlivened 



IN THE ADRIATIC 99 

with racy words; in him the sailors recognize a 
brother. He is one of the crowd. Although his 
hands are accustomed to priestly gestures, he 
takes part in the embarkations. Each time we 
put the gig or longboat in the water, he takes 
his place beside the coxswain and tries to direct 
the crew. He soon learned the usual orders, hoAV 
to manage the sail and the oar, and how to make 
a difficult landing or tack. In a few weeks he 
could safely be entrusted with the direction of a 
ship's boat in all the difficulties of current, wind 
and waves ; he directed it with confident voice and 
hand. Then we made him undergo the same ex- 
amination as the able seamen, and if it would 
please him to have the title in partihiis, we will 
deliver to him the certificate which will make him 
a real priest-sailor. 

During the cruises he tries to pierce to the soul 
of that mysterious race, the sailors. For those 
who have preached to country and city folk the 
task is not easy. The sailors, artless and at the 
same time instructed by their travels, used to 
danger and to duty, do not take to specious rhet- 
oric or childish advice. Hyperbole and platitude 
displease them equally. They have minds like the 
fishermen and workingmen whom of old John the 
Baptist or Jesus persuaded. One must search 
their heart rather than their reason, their im- 
agination rather than their intelligence. In this 
way the preaching may bring them some simple 



100 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

truths, admonisli their rather loose impulses, and 
give them resignation for their fatiguing tasks. 

Every Sunday religious service is held on 
board; it is a simple and dignified ceremony. 
Around the portable altar, the flags make stained 
windows; the arch of the church is replaced by 
the low whitewashed ceiling between decks; to 
right and left the partitions of the cabins, the 
white bodies of the stacks form the metallic walls 
of our temple; variegated funnels, valves, well- 
polished faucets, throw out sparkling reds and 
yellows; chairs for the officers, benches for the 
crew, cover eight or ten meters of the space. Any- 
one who wishes attends. A bugle call announces 
the Mass, and anyone not on duty may be present 
or may excuse himself. While the priest recites, 
one hears the respiration of the engines below, 
the snorting of the ventilators ; over head on deck 
tramp the sailors of the watch; the great waves 
of the Adriatic slap against the hull, and the 
quiver of the moving ship makes the altar tremble. 
Now and then there is music, old liturgic airs and 
modern themes. 

The priest addresses the sailors. He does not 
need to teach them heroism, to make fine phrases. 
The instinct of the sailors is surer. They are con- 
vinced by eternal truths, discussed with sincerity. 
Our Bretons, our Provencals, listen receptively to 
the gospel of the day. When they hear simple 
words, like those the Galilean used two thousand 



IN THE ADRIATIC |01 

years ago, their lips are parted, tlieir deep eyes 
become absorbed, tlieir souls grow better. But 
if they hear argument, they make an effort to 
understand, they knit their brows, they discuss 
within their o^\ti minds. They reflect what is good 
and clear and simple ; one is sure to touch them 
when one seeks their hearts. 

The Domino, salvam fac rempuhlicam is played. 
The priest passes between the rows on his way 
to his cabin, and the congregation disperses. Five 
minutes later, benches and flags have disappeared, 
the place has recovered its solitude and its calm. 
The sailors before the engines or behind the guns 
remember with pleasure what they have just 
heard. Believers or not, they know that sincere 
words have been spoken and yield themselves to 
their influence. 

Thus, in early ages, in the clearings or the 
fields, the apostles must have preached to rude 
peoples. They sowed the seed that ripened 
throughout the centuries; their temples were no 
more splendid than this steel vessel which spends 
every Sunday traversing the sea. 

Near Santa Maria de Leuca, 

17 November, 

We have on board an eye which never sleeps; 

it is the wireless. Its apparatus is buried in the 

depths of the ship ; a cabin hung with mattresses 

isolates the operators from the noise of the en- 



102 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

gines, and the general confusion. Tli3 teleg- 
raphers listen to messages from every direction; 
the lowest murmurs of the electric voice do not 
escape their ears. 

The air vibrates continually. From stations far 
and near, from ships sailing the Atlantic or nearer 
waters, the calls and messages find their way; 
the air carries them instantaneously. The power- 
ful poles of the Eiffel Tower, Ireland, Germany, 
Italy, Constantinople, overcome the fainter mes- 
sages. They send out to any distance, with all 
their force, the official news of the conflict. If 
someone else is speaking too loud five hundred 
or a thousand kilometers away, they increase their 
current, swell their voices, until these interlopers 
are silent. 

There is a certain tacit agreement about their 
transmission. Germany does not interrupt 
France ; the Turk waits until Malta has finished ; 
Madrid, talking with Berlin, ceases when London 
speaks. For these great stations, controlled by 
the Governments, send out only the more im- 
portant messages, those which the entire world 
ought to hear; they wish neither to be confused 
nor to confuse others. Communiques from the 
front, events at sea, diplomatic or financial trans- 
actions, apologias or recriminations, circulate in 
all languages. One can be sure the papers will 
not publish them. If by chance the reader finds 
them in his daily newspaper, it will be a week or 



IN THE ADRIATIC 103 

two later, under some disconnected, unrecogniz- 
able form. 

The sailors, however, get all the news. While 
the censor limits the rest of the world to 
meager and belated information, we know it 
all already. We can rejoice or mourn in ad- 
vance of the rejoicings and grief of millions. 
Ireland announces a simple strategic movement 
of the Russians, but Norddeich — the German sta- 
tion—echoes everywhere the claim of a German 
victory, with an advance and the taking of thou- 
sands of prisoners. Norddeich relates briefly 
some happening at sea, but Eiffel makes her most 
powerful sparks crackle as she sends to Moscow, 
to Terra Nueva, to the Soudan and the Red Sea, 
the news of a naval disaster to some German 
ships. How soon and in what distorted form will 
the public read this news? At every hour of day 
and night we receive the messages, brutal and 
imperious. 

We cannot be deceived. Even our enemies take 
no pains to prevaricate in these messages to am- 
bassadors, consuls, and their innumerable agents 
who uphold German prestige throughout the 
world. It is of the utmost importance for Ger- 
many that these men receive honest information 
with which to make a case for their negotiations. 
There is nothing in common between the rhap- 
sodies of the papers or the Wolff Agency, and its 
wireless information. At the most, in the case of 



104- THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

defeats, it carefully renders a vague account. But 
this vagueness makes us prick up our ears, and 
in a few hours London or Paris confirms the Eng- 
lish or French victory. 

Outside of chancelleries and Government offices 
there are no maps kept up to date except those 
on ships of war. In the wardroom we argue over 
the flags that are placed at the precise spot where 
they should be ; our predictions and our hopes are 
rarely deceived. And if secrecy did not bind us 
to silence, we could tell our friends much news. 

But underneath these important voices of the 
wireless are whispers of many lesser tones, just 
as in the tropical forest the roaring of the lions 
does not silence the sounds of insects and rodents ; 
this undertone of smaller voices is what gives 
the jungle its deep voice. The thin voices of the 
ships that speak to us give the sea air a mys- 
terious animation. A great liner on its way from 
tropic seas announces its passage by some 
frequented cape. A torpedo-boat on patrol near 
Gibraltar tells Port Said of the ships it has 
sighted. This torpedo-boat's apparatus is not 
powerful enough to call the other end of the 
Mediterranean; it signals Bizerta or Toulon, 
which answer it, take its message, and send it like 
a ball rebounding on the stations at Malta, on 
the masts of a French cruiser in the Ionian, on 
the wires of a Eussian ship in the M^qslh Sea, 



IN THE ADRIATIC 105 

until it finally reaches the station at Port Said. 
A mail-boat gives information about its position ; 
a squadron asks for orders; a naval attache or 
ambassador sends word about espionage; the 
Resident General at Morocco is sending grain to 
Montenegro; the patrols warn of a submarine in 
sight ; colliers ask us to tell them where they will 
find certain battleships : the whole Mediterranean 
knocks at the wireless station of the Commander- 
in-Chief, like a crowd of subalterns at the door 
of the officer who is giving out orders. 

And the Commander-in-Chief on his splendid 
battleship — a moving office — decides, orders, di- 
rects ; the sonorous rays shoot out from the mast 
where floats his flag that represents France, and 
through space, far and near, through the stations 
which relay them farther on, travels their echo to 
the ear of the recipients. 

There is no disorder, no discord, in these mes- 
sages. Just as with the players in a well directed 
orchestra, all the speakers speak on the minute, 
at the very instant they should; watch in hand, 
the telegraphers wait for their moment, and at 
the highest speed send their dashes, short and 
long ; at the end of their period whether they have 
finished or not, they stop and wait, for imme- 
diately a distant voice begins to play its tune, 
and would complain violently if some one pre- 
vented its talking. The Mediterranean is divided 



106 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

into sectors, and the time distributed between 
them, so that no one is allowed to speak if the 
schedule requires him to be silent. 

Offenders, moreover, are soon recognized. Just 
as the finger of a blind man acquires surprising 
sensibility, the telegraphers come to know the 
timber, sharpness of tone and musical richness 
of these babblers they have never seen. For the 
initiated the electric radiations have a person- 
ality like human talk. Two stations, two ships, 
have distinct voices and deliveries. This one 
sputters, that one speaks slowly and gravely; the 
sound of one resembles a match struck on sand 
paper, another buzzes like a fly, another sings 
sharply like a mosquito. It is a magic concert. 
In his padded cabin the receiver hears and makes 
out the whisperings of the grasshopper, the scrap- 
ings of violins, the rattle of beetles, the frying 
of boiling oil, all the sounds which the fantastic 
electricity reproduces hundreds of miles away. 
It jumps, stops, recommences; one would call it 
a symphony of goblins in a boundless land. And 
yet the least of these vibrations is a messenger 
of war, of life, or of death. 

They are careful to use secret languages. There 
is not a word or phrase in this continual inter- 
change which anyone could interpret without the 
keys upon which depends the safety of the ships. 
Nothing but cipher circulates through the air. All 
the combinations which the human mind could 



IN THE ADRIATIC 107 

invent, all the ingenuities devised by specialists, 
have been prepared beforehand. We improve on 
the arrangements of ciphers; for fear that the 
enemy, after receiving pages and pages of 
ciphered texts, will succeed in forcing the lock, 
the ** naval army" does not long maintain the 
same keys. It modifies them, turns them about, 
rubs them down ; and the officers in charge of the 
translation are like travelers who change 
languages at every frontier. 

Furthermore, everyone does not speak the same 
language; sometimes they address one another 
without anyone 's being able to understand. From 
Englishman to Englishman, Frenchman to 
Frenchman, minister to admiral, admiral to 
cruiser, commander-in-chief to the least of his 
satellites, ambassador to battleship, consulate to 
shore station — between these leap dialogues in 
unknown patois. The curious can listen, but they 
will learn nothing. "As worthy descendants of the 
Gauls, whom Caesar describes as stopping 
travelers en route to get news from them, we are 
all eager to know the message of the ciphers which 
we read without our codes ^ being able to interpret 
them. Labor lost! Perhaps one of us has 
patience, enough, or works long enough, to de- 
cipher a secret not meant for him. He is happy. 
He acts important. He thinks he is very superior 
to have known how to listen at the keyholes. But 



108 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

some fine day the key whose secret he has learned 
becomes useless in his hand; it gives him only 
words without order, nonsense. The two talkers 
have amused themselves with changing the lock, 
and everything has to be done again. The naval 
allies dread enemies with ears that are too wide 
open as much as indiscreet friends with too long 
tongues. And it is a good thing they do. 

Besides, we have enough to do in translating 
the intelligible messages. In addition to the 
lieutenant of the chief vessel of the patrol and 
the chief of the watch and his second, there is a 
fourth officer who spends his whole time looking 
over files of texts received by the wireless. At 
his side are codes and dictionaries containing 
every word, phrase or signal which he needs to 
know. He spends four hours translating the num- 
bers into French. English, Russians, French, 
Montenegrins, Serbs, all have something im- 
portant, something vital, to say. During the day 
a hundred or even two hundred telegrams arrive, 
and are transcribed in blankbooks; the sender, 
the destination, the number, the hour of transmis- 
sion, are all carefully noted. These are the 
archives of our naval Odyssey. 

A wireless is often addressed to the Waldech- 
Rousseau, The station that is calling sends out 
into space the name of our cruiser. We respond. 
From shore and from the ships come unexpected 
instructions and questions. In the dark night we 



IN THE ADRIATIC 109 

transmit to the Commander-in-Cliief whatever 
message demands a reply. The Commander con- 
siders, weighs carefully the words which he will 
send back ; the officer in charge of the translating 
writes it out clearly and concisely in cipher. And 
a few minutes later the masts of tae ship flash 
out their long and short dashes into the midst 
of the darkness. It is the answer that we are 
sending. The wires stretched between the masts 
become phosphoresjcent, the sparks crackle drily, 
and instantaneously, at no matter what distance, 
the one who is calling us hears the faint echo of 
our voice. 

Thus pass the days, vibrant with this invisible 
busines.s. Everyone tells w^hat he knows, listens 
to what he ought to hear, responds when he is 
called. From the ocean to the Eed Sea, all the 
wandering ships are held together by these bands^ 
and the magical electric current effaces distance. 
But there are times when one is silent. 

When, on the trail of adventure, the bold vessels 
go up the Adriatic to the threshold of their enemy, 
their voices are as hidden as their path is dark. 
However imperious the calls, they do not reply. 
All about them, at Cattaro, at Lissa, in the islands 
and arsenals, the telegraphic spies w^ould hear 
their voices as they approached. Dark and silent, 
they move without speaking. All chinks are 
stopped up in the cabin where the men listen. 
All along the route, in these furtive hours, they 



no THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

catch mysterious conversations. Some Austrian 
spy in Italy or tlie Greek Islands has seen in the 
twilight the departure of the French fleet towards 
the north. In a chimney, or cellar or well, this 
spy has concealed a transmitting station of which 
the neutrals are ignorant ; he sends brief messages 
which sound like a whistle. We do not under- 
stand the numbers, but we guess what they mean. 
*^The French are about to leave," ''they are leav- 
ing, '* *'they are in the Adriatic,'^ ''they are ap- 
proaching Cattaro." No French mouth is respon- 
sible for this hostile voice; we know it by its 
singing timber like a flute or a mosquito's buzz. 
It is the Telefunken apparatus w^hich produces 
this sound, which one would recognize among a 
thousand. All night its vibration follows us. 
Whence come these whispers in the darkness? By 
what miracle, from moment to moment, do we 
hear these sonorous flashes w^hicli talk about noth- 
ing but us? "The French are passing Brindisi;" 
"they are passing Bari;'' "they are turning to- 
wards the northeast;'* "about two o'clock they 
will be near Pelagosa." In the distance vibra^te 
the responses, which become more and more dis- 
tinct. It is Cattaro, Pola, the Dalmatian Isles, 
awaiting us. 

Yes, we move in a circle of sinister spirits, and 
these Germans have prodigious ears. Their high 
shrill murmur, undecipherable yet very clear, 
darts round us as we advance through the dark- 



IN THE ADRIATIC 111 

ness. Perhaps destroyers and submarines are 
lurking on our course. Those that have missed us 
in our too rapid progress telegraph the next een- 
tinel, and he rushes toward us with his torpedo 
ready. Where is he? Behind or in front? 
Gunners, do not sleep at your guns ! Officers, bend 
over the empty blackness ! Cruiser, enveloped in 
shadow, move faster and ever faster ! These evil 
specters of the Adriatic are lying in wait for you ; 
the whistling of their ghostly lips prepares your 
destruction ! But do not be afraid. They will 
wear themselves out in the pursuit, and to-morrow 
you will be at the post where France desires you. 
But what cruiser, which battleship, is destined 
to receive the fatal wound from these singing 
demons ? 

TV est of Corfu, 26 November. 

The naval struggle in which the Germans pre- 
tended to imitate the great corsairs of France has 
ended with the destruction of the E widen by an 
Australian cruiser in the Bay of Bengal. The 
armed liners — the Kaiser Wilhelm, Cecilie, Cape 
Trafalgar, and many others — ^have already paid 
the penalty for their futile audacity. They 
thought they could terrorize sailors and starve 
out nations ; but in fact the resources of life are 
going to flow more abundantly than ever into the 
markets of the Allies. 

The navy is the guardian of the granaries. We 



112 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

already knew it who frequented the important 
routes in times of peace, but five months of labor 
have proved to us that we never realized its full 
significance. 

We have seen pass us, and have protected, in- 
numerable freighters loaded with grain for bread, 
with animals for meat, and steel for the manu- 
facture of shells. The warships have freed the 
routes which supply our champions with food, 
and have closed up the routes of the enemy. How 
many months longer will this enterprise take? 
The lips of the future are sealed. But the cruisers 
and torpedo-boats, from Norway to the ^gean 
Sea, do not shrink from their task. A nation at 
war requires some of its defenders to labor in 
assuring a living to those who fight. The deeds 
of sailors are not brilliant and showy; and men 
are not grateful to them for their fatigue. What 
matter? If this obscure work of the ships keeps 
the tears of famine from being added to the grief 
of mourning, it will not have been without a glory 
of its own ; the smiles of happy little children will 
be our reward. 

But I am forgetting the Emden and the corsair 
liners. Like the sea my imagination is somewhat 
capricious. These restless corsairs are of a piece 
with the general parody which German Kultur 
offers us. What would the Jean Barts and the 
Duquesnes say to the bandits that are spewed 
forth from Kiel and Hamburg? In the great 



IN THE ADRIATIC 113 

period of Dunkirk and Saint Male, pirates at- 
tacked magnificent galleys, sailing before the wind 
to Spain and the Thames. Like the brave foxes 
they were, they reveled in bold and clever combat. 
They were the prodigal sons of the sea. They 
played an honorable game, and never took pride 
in mere blind massacre. 

One can imagine how the terrors of the sea 
would have been increased if a few years more 
of peace had permitted Germany to forge new 
weapons. Of her liners and cruisers she has 
picked the most powerful and rapid, and has said 
to them: *'Kill, sink, and run away!'' Nothing 
is sacred to the barbarians of Rheims and Lou- 
vain, neither cathedrals nor the routes of the sea. 
What would not have been the horrors of this 
privateering war if William II himself or one 
of his lieutenants had had control of these mari- 
time massacres? Before them the grisly imagina- 
tion of the Middle Ages would have paled. What 
crimes will the Germans not commit when they 
realize that they are conquered? 

Honor to the officers of the Emden! They have 
destroyed ships, but they nobly refused to commit 
the crimes commanded by their master. They 
generously spared the lives of the sailors who 
were at their mercy, and blood does not dishonor 
the tale of their exploits. Doubtless the praise 
of blood has disgraced them at Berlin, but the 
fraternity of sailors does not condemn them. 



114 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

England accepted the cliallenge. Over the vast 
expanse of ocean she deployed her cruisers, 
launched them forth on the path of the marauders, 
and ordered: *^ Suppress them!'* No pardon, no 
weakness! The Emperor at Berlin had revived 
the law of blood; so one took vengeance on his 
satellites. They all disappeared. 

The last victim, the Emden, suffered the doom 
which it had so often inflicted. It had hunted 
down twenty harmless steamers, and was then in 
pursuit of a British convoy. To-day, broken, ly- 
ing on an Indian reef, it serves as a reminder to 
wandering sailors. First they will salute this 
heroic prow, which knew how to die and how to 
redeem its enterprise from ignominy. Then they 
will give thanks to the fate that had them born 
of another race than the German. 

Strait of Itliaca, 30 November, 
The Commander-in-Chief has ordered the Wal- 
dech-Rousseau to leave its Adriatic station — 
Otranto, Fano, Albania — for an anchorage in the 
Ionian Isles at Arkudi. 

We go a short distance out to sea before ap- 
proaching the maze of islands. To the north dis- 
appear Corfu, Paxo, and Anti-Paxo ; to the south 
rise Saint Maure and Cephalonia; the great wall 
of the Orient covers the east; all the landmarks 
of our course are slowly displaced, giving way to 
others. 



IN THE ADRIATIC 115 

The officers of the watch pore over the chart. 
This great white sheet with its fine print indicates 
the contours, the data, the dangers, the routes. 
To those who do not know how to read it, it is 
nonsense; but its marks are our gospel. By its 
fine and intricate lines we can foretell how easy 
our voyage will be and where the dangers lurk. 
We sometimes think of the mariners of old who 
had no other guide than Providence. Eeading 
these charts we wonder whether these regions 
were loved or feared, and whether, before risking 
his life there, the pilot invoked Neptune or the 
Virgin of the Waves. 

We to-day are not so uneasy. Sky and sea are 
smiling. There is something treacherous in those 
blandishments of Nature, which recall the delights 
of autumn and yet suggest the coming of winter 
frosts. Their last tenderness is fragile. 

Here we are in the strait of Dukato, between 
Saint Maure and Cephalonia. It is a splendid 
boulevard. To the right, Ithaca, Ulysses' native 
land, lies reddish bro^\Ti under the sun ; to the left, 
lie jewels of rocks and liquid paths more delicate 
and beautiful than remote trails in the depths of 
woods ; before us a cluster of islands with names 
from the musical language of the rhapsodists 
— Arkudi, Meganisi, Astoko. And like a highly 
polished tapestry, the marvelous mountains tower 
above the water, blue and crowned with light. The 
sea has the hue of mother-of-pearl; the sky is 



116 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

pale, the islands are veiled in faint color; the 
gods have composed these tints, outlines and 
places into a perfect fairyland. 

Space seems to have a divine soul, of unknown 
substance. The eyes are ravished, the blood ex- 
hilarated. When Homer sang the return of 
Ulysses, the Ionian gods gave him a flexible and 
sonorous language. That secret the men of our 
times have lost, they must pause feebly on the 
threshold of the inexpressible. Surely Ionia was 
the garden of the gods. 

The cruiser, slender and swift, glides between 
these historic shores, which have seen the barques 
of the Achaeans, the triremes of Rome, the Vene- 
tian galleys, the ships of the Crusaders and the 
feluccas of Barbary. In our wake have passed 
generations of pilots, who came from regions 
where the sea is evil, and who laughed with de- 
light in this sailors' paradise. Why should they 
not all — poets or merchants, pirates or soldiers — 
celebrate these delights and long to remain here! 
Blundering through schoolbooks, I have hated the 
very name of Ithaca; I have cursed Olympia — 
when it was assembled in a detestable book. Since 
then I have seen all the most perfect skies; my 
eyes have exhausted the miracle of light. And 
yet it is here that I place the cradle of the gods. 
When the fancy came to them to descend to earth, 
where else should they have lighted but on ma- 
jestic islet, like Juno on a steep bank made by 



IN THE ADRIATIC 117 

Vulcan? Was it not in this fair atmosphere that 
Apollo shook out his radiant locks? 

And is it not this sea that gave birth to Venus? 
How happy he would be who could catch the secret 
of the outline and color play on this sea? Her 
fish are more beautiful in tint and form than the 
loveliest animals. Her plants have a rich metallic 
luster, with lines and curves that no land plants 
approach. The men who frequent her, the cities 
she laves, are fortunate. All beauty comes from 
the sea ; every vital germ has floated in her depths. 
And the subtle intuition of the race of Homer, 
who gave divine form to symbols, made the god- 
dess of life and beauty spring from the Ionian 
waves. 

Aphrodite! Triumphant, naked, I see you 
emerging from the transparent blue sea: you 
stretch your soft limbs under the caress of light. 
You open your enchanted eyes upon an earth 
where men, harassed by the ugliness of their souls 
and the futility of their labors, stretch their hands 
madly toward your eternal beauty! You go to 
meet them. It was here you made your first ap- 
pearance on our earth. Blessed be the Greeks, 
your sponsors, who chose this cradle for you ! 

And at this moment, when yonder on the field 
of murder the German ruffians are trying to de- 
stroy everything that is beautiful, everything to 
which you have given birth, I understand more 
clearly the patrimony which the French are called 



118 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

upon to defend. Aphrodite, you extend across 
the ages your protection to France, your child. 
From this spot have come that clear thought, that 
delicate feeling, that fertile vision, which you 
loved in the people who nourished you. As a 
humble defender of that beauty, born of the bridal 
of sea and sun, a Frenchman thanks you for what 
you have given him, for all that which is now in 
danger of destruction; he salutes you in passing, 
Ionian Aphrodite, and wishes he could see the 
very circle of gold where the Greeks have placed 
your birth. 

Do not think it is the force of antique memory 
alone that has produced this adoration of mine. 
From the bridge where I am carefully guiding the 
cruiser through the windings Ulysses loved, I see 
on deck a thousand sailors, silent and attentive. 
They have stopped talking and laughing, and no 
longer turn their backs to the too familiar sea. 
To-day a great silence hovers over these Bretons, 
these Flemings and Provengals. In what naive 
way are they absorbing the beauty before their 
eyes? They are not acquainted with the poetry 
and the prose which have endowed me with this 
ancient heritage. There they are, however, with 
wide eyes, lost in admiration. Beauty could not 
be celebrated more significantly than in this 
stupor of theirs. Their souls, I imagine, im- 
prisoned in dark dungeons, unconsciously regret 
the speed of our passage. Their emotions are 



IN THE ADRIATIC 119 

profounder than mine; theirs rise from depths 
where are no words to translate the mystery. 
When you do not understand a thing, you discuss 
it; but you are silent when it is revealed. All 
the sailors are silent. Beauty has just made itself 
one of their souls' memories. 

'At sea off the Peloponnesus , 2 December. 

After so many weeks of cruising, without con- 
tact with the world, we had hoped to enjoy a few 
days of rest at Malta, a favor which the Com- 
mander-in-Chief grants to weary ships. We 
cherished the illusion that he had had us come 
so that he might deliver his communications to us 
and send us quickly on our mission. But in the 
navy one must never hope unless one wishes to 
be deceived. Hardly had we arrived at the anchor- 
age of Arkudi when the WaldecJc-Roiisseau was 
charged vdth an urgent mission on the other side 
of the Balkan peninsula, to Saloniki. Regretfully 
she takes the southern route, winds around Greece 
and the Peloponnesus, turns towards the north, 
and through the mazes of the ^gean Sea seeks 
the road to Thessaly. 

Our faces and eyes begin to show their weari- 
ness. It is not without betraying the strain that 
the stokers before their furnaces, the engineers 
before their pistons, the gunner lookouts before 
their guns, have lived this interminable length of 
days and nights, alternating between heavy labor 



120 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

and broken rest. The air between decks becomes 
heavier and more stifling with each passing day; 
dust and heat lie over everything, and one is as 
weary after a heavy sleep as at night on a rail- 
road train with all the windows closed. 

Everyone wonders whether we shall ever have 
the pleasure of engaging these Austrians or 
Turks, who hide in corners out of reach and send 
only submarines against us. The submarines are 
there ; they are everywhere, they are nowhere. We 
stretch out our arms in the empty air; we strain 
our eyes in looking for the hiding enemy ; and sud- 
denly into the side of the vessel passes the wound 
that has no mercy. And it all happens in silence, 
for the naval warfare of this age is dumb. 

I should only be tedious if I told in detail all 
the vain pursuits of our chases in the upper Ad- 
riatic, of patrols by night, of the sunrise, the light, 
the dusk. The days stretch hand in hand in a 
gray undulating vista across the w^ater, at the end 
of which vanish the last hours w^e passed in 
France. 

The Commander-in-Chief has cheered our de- 
jection. The mission which takes us to Saloniki 
will take us later to Marseilles. That at least is 
the hope contained in our instructions. And we 
mil be allowed to take a rest while w^e are in 
France. Everyone builds visions, calculates the 
time, and persuades himself that the Christmas 
holidays will find him again with his family. Al- 



IN THE ADRIATIC 121 

ready fathers seem to be caressing the fair heads 
of their children before the fireplace, husbands 
and lovers are trembling with a grave joy at the 
thought of this homeward voyage, a simple enough 
episode in our vagabond career, but charged with 
emotion because of the suffering of yesterday and 
the dangers of to-morrow. No one, however, 
dares complete these castles in Spain; too many 
miscalculations have marked our existence, as it 
is. As for me, who for eleven years have passed 
no single Christmas Eve in France, can I believe 
that a freak of war will grant me this happiness 
denied me by peace? 

While we wait, each turn of the screws takes us 
further from France. Sparta, Cythera, the Cy- 
clades, Corinth and the Pirajus; these are the 
names which the officer of the watch gives to the 
lands that in turn come to salute us from the 
horizon. At the end of the map are marked the 
Dardanelles and Constantinople, other boundaries 
of this world war. Our cruiser has left the re- 
gions of danger in the Adriatic, and advances as 
fast as possible towards the waspish Turk. We 
move among beautiful scenery. Our eyes seek 
out a lighthouse on some island of celebrated 
name ; our lips pronounce the name of some cape 
which the poets have made famous ; we maneuver 
our engines and helm in an archipelago of taber- 
nacles : Cythera, the temple of Venus, and Deios, 
the homeland of Apollo; Sparta, with austere 



122 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

countenance, and Athens, the rose of antiquity. 
Why cannot the sailor enjoy this dry, pure 
December weather? Under his feet the noble 
cruiser quivers. During his lookout, he smokes 
a light fragrant cigaret, and his thoughts, fluid 
like these pale curls of smoke, in happier times 
would have drifted back to the legendary epochs 
of old. But no human evil darkens the shining 
skies. For Austrian or Turk we must not cease 
to watch. I do not dream of complaining of that, 
for undoubtedly these hours portend violent home- 
sickness for me. 

Gulf of Salonihiy 7 December. 

According to the schedule of watches I am in 
charge of the entry into the Gulf of Saloniki. 
From two to six o'clock in the morning I have 
directed the ship in this funnel of water, without 
lighthouses, with treacherous currents, at the end 
of which lies the much coveted city, that apple 
of discord between the Eastern peoples. 

A treacherous fog sleeps on the surface of the 
water and shrouds the shores. Above it the moon 
dominates the keights and sheds its idle sparkling 
rays on the snows of Mount Olympus, Pelion and 
Ossa. Between the mists on land and the starry 
mantle of the sky, these peaks, whitened by the 
snow and by the decay of their own glory, keep 
watch in the deep silence. They are the only 
guide of the sailor lost in the fog; the officer of 



IN THE ADRIATIC 123 

the watch and the young midshipman who assists 
him do not take their eyes off these tutelary 
presences. It is very cold. Towards four o'clock 
a freezing wind blows from Thessaly, and 
sharpens the edges of the snow to shining razors. 
My hands freeze on the glasses, and my eyes shed 
tears under the north wind. But one must forget 
such miseries. 

A faint paleness lingers in the East, and spreads 
over the sky to our right. Straight ahead appear 
low plains, dotted mth fires. The dawn comes, a 
moment full of difficulty and danger. My mid- 
shipman and I steer the course among the shoals. 

At the moment when the last tack opens before 
us the roadstead of Saloniki, my successor comes 
to relieve me. The sunrise has taken possession 
of our world; the marvel of an Eastern morning 
emerges from the shadows of the night. I go 
quickly and drink a steaming cup of coffee, and 
come on deck again, to admire as simple spectator 
the panorama which I approached as pilot. 

A stretch of frozen water, girdled with sands 
and marshes, reflects an uncertain light. Our 
prow breaks a way through the film of ice and 
broken splinters fall back on either side, like the 
crackling of frying cakes. Towards the mouth 
of the Vardar, legions of birds are skating and 
tumbling on this crust in which their claws can 
get no hold — the tumult of their voices disturbs 
the peaceful morning: fluttering moorhens, 



124 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

raucous herons, ducks in triangular flocks, wake 
and swarm about; rose-colored flamingoes poise 
themselves, motionless and pensive, on their 
needle-like legs, only a few meters from our 
course. 

As our cruiser, sparkling with dew and glisten- 
ing in the cold, penetrates farther into the white 
fog, a town emerges from the vagueness. It is 
still swathed in its morning gauze, its base is 
plunged in the fog, but its minarets offer their 
heads to the tints of the sunrise. One by one they 
show their slender outlines; soon they can no 
longer be counted for they form a forest of 
columns over the city. Surrounded by massive 
towers, the walls of the fortified castle on the 
summit of the hill are bathed in light; and be- 
5^ond, stretching to the horizon, a desolate plain 
without trees or houses carries the eye towards 
Serbia, Bulgaria, Greece, or the steppes of 
Turkey. 

Our anchor falls, and tears the parchment of 
ice. At length, after so many miles and journeys, 
the cruiser halts. All Saloniki is smiling under 
the kiss of the sun. Close to the water, as along 
all the Mediterranean shores, the buildings on the 
quay show their black commercial signs, gold 
fagades of moving-picture palaces, and the white 
stucco and marble of hotels and banks. The 
streets, like dark tunnels through the mass of 
houses, rise from the harbor and plunge into the 



IN THE ADRIATIC 125 

tiers of Christian and Jewish walls, up to the 
heights of the great amphitheater, where are 
massed the light blue Turkish cottages, sur- 
rounded by cypresses and clusters of plane trees. 

An Orthodox basili<?a flaunts its humped dome ; 
the synagogue, geometrical and ugly, seems to 
hide in a confusion of terraces ; a Catholic church 
raises its cross on a stone abutment ; and the fifty 
minarets, with their slender swelling and tapering 
tops, point upward toward Allah's heaven. To 
the left, above the harbor, are tall smoking 
chimneys of brick; these are the minarets of the 
new god, industry, who has come at last to take 
his place among the sleepy Orientals. 

Since we carry the flag of w^ar in neutral waters, 
our cruiser must act with great scrupulousness. 
Greece consents to observe toward our mission a 
courteous hospitality, and we are careful not to 
abuse it. Since the beginning of the war the 
Waldeck-Roiisseau is the first belligerent vessel 
to anchor in this cosmoijolitan roadstead. All 
the East shudders. From the Serbian and Turk- 
ish storm clouds come bursts of thunder. Envies, 
hatreds and hopes wait only the hour to explode ; 
Saloniki is a crossway where all currents collide. 
The presence of French sailors on shore might 
excite unpleasant demonstrations; the officers of 
the cruiser and the authorities of the city agree 
in refusing permission to sailors and officers to 
land until new orders arrive. This restriction 



126 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

does not include couriers, or negotiators, who ar6 
protected by tlie diplomatic immunities. 

And here we are, imprisoned only a few fathoms 
from shore. Weary with walking the steel deck 
of the ship, we were rejoicing at the thought of 
getting acquainted with softer ground. After the 
glittering sea our eyes longed for the peaceful 
sights of the streets or the fields. We abandon 
hope of these meager pleasures, and, like Tanta- 
luses of the sea, try to satisfy ourselves with the 
attractions in the roadstead. 

From morning until evening, and up to night- 
fall, the harbor caiques come out to the French 
ship, besieging her and trying to fasten to her. 
But the same orders which forbid our visiting 
Saloniki in turn forbid access to the ship. No 
cajolery softens the officials; they repulse the 
most impudent attempts; and the rush of the 
barques is broken against our armor-plate. 
These resemble the narrow caiques of Constan- 
tinople. The people are curious as only the 
Easterners know how to be; they come in little 
groups, not haphazard, but according to race, be- 
liefs, or opinions. The different groups cor- 
respond to the diversity of the city, where under 
the same heaven the mosques, the temples, the 
basilicas and the churches, adore so many dif- 
ferent gods. 

Large numbers of Greek soldiers with tanned 
faces come to observe us. To free themselves 



IN THE ADRIATIC 127 

from the menace of war, they have hired boats 
together and come out to see what sailors look 
like who for four inonths have followed this pro- 
fession of fighting. Later in some village of 
Boeotia or Locrida, they will relate to a rural 
audience the talk they had with sailors from 
Cornouailles or Provence. But between these two 
tribes of simple souls there is no common 
language to make intelligible conversation. An 
animated pantomime — sounds, grimaces, smiles, 
which everyone understands — ^has to serve. A 
finger is pointed towards the Dardanelles or Con- 
stantinople ; another indicates the Adriatic ; some 
comedian from Marseilles cries *^Pan! Pan!" 
and a Theban gunner answers *^Boum! Boum!" 
Great shouts of laughter burst from them. 
Hearts, if not lips, speak the same language. 

Hearing this wild laughter, a crowd of Turks 
in black jacket and spotless fez, come round us 
silently. Their caiques are polished and painted 
green. Formerly these men were masters in 
Saloniki, but German duplicity launched their 
country into an adventure which lost them their 
fortunes. To them our flag is accursed. If some 
Turkish mine, wandering from the Dardanelles, 
should rip open our hull before their eyes, I swear 
they would raise to Allah strident cries of grati- 
tude. But they are helpless and morose. 

Their spite is only increased by the attentions 
we get from the friends of France. Some English- 



128 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

men, for instance, with their short pipes between 
their teeth and their chests open under a soft 
shirt, row about in pirogues; their bright eyes 
admire the cruiser as an instrument of sport, and 
the sailors as men who play the game of death. 
Passing, they rest their oars in front of the 
officers, and shout a *^Hip! Hip! Hurrah!'' at 
once emotional and precise, just as they might hail 
some cricket or football team. 

Pretty Greek girls, with pure profiles and sly 
glances, add smiles, showers of flowers, and the 
brilliance of their new gowns to the enthusiasm 
of the men; as they leave, their gloved hands 
throw towards the cruiser kisses which they think 
are unperceived; but our glasses miss nothing. 

Serbs with tragic faces, with sunken and burn- 
ing eyes, come to get new courage from contact 
wdth the French Navy. At this very moment their 
country is prostrate before the Austrian. Our 
flag comes to tell them: *^Do not despair!" and 
they respond to our friendly salutations with pale 
smiles. 

Quite at their ease, some Eussians push their 
way among the crowd of barques. Whether their 
territory be invaded or not, whether their troops 
advance or retreat in the varying fortunes of this 
war, the Russians suffer neither extreme anguish 
nor extreme joy. They are quite serene. A cloud 
effaces the sun, but does not extinguish it. A 
reverse may annoy Russia, but she can wait ; her 



IN THE ADRIATIC 129 

victories will be tlie work of time. With a grand 
viva on their white teeth they salute their com- 
rades of the great war, and then stay still, 
smiling. 

These vivas excite ferocious glares in many an 
eye. Crouched on the benches in the boats are 
old Ottomans of Bagdad, or Mecca, or Erzeroum, 
who are telling over a shining chaplet of coral 
or nuts. These men are incorrigible. From their 
half shut lids, between their full lips, they dart 
towards the Roumis looks of hatred and impreca- 
tions. They glide at a distance of several meters 
from us, and do not stop their boat. The glances 
we are exchanging with our friends are profound, 
and charged with significance; the Mussulmans 
turn their eyes away to pretend indifference, but 
their rage is betrayed in the movement of their 
fingers which miss several beads at a time on their 
rosaries. 

And what of these swarms of Germans, 
merchants, spies or fomenters of trouble, who 
crowd into the boats and instal themselves under 
our guns, to study the cruiser and the sailors? 
Here are these smiling but shameless faces, their 
eyes hidden beneath round spectacles, with which 
Germany blinds the w^orld. Some of them, ac- 
customed to this work, photograph us, enumerate 
our guns, observe our system of surveillance and 
protection. Before evening, telegrams in cipher 
will carry to Berlin all this information. They 



130 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

do it without shame ; their disdain insnlts us with 
its impunity. Is not our territory invaded! Are 
not our Eussian Allies harassed in Poland? Did 
not the British fleet, only a month ago, lose ships 
like ours off the coast of Chile! Have not our 
Serbian friends been driven back by the Austrians. 
** Germany over all!'' We hear the arrogance 
they do not express. One of them dares to throw 
on deck a newspaper written in French. Attracted 
by the language, a sailor brings us the paper. 
But it comes from the press of Ihe "Woltf Agency; 
quibbles, monstrous lies, written in a French that 
would make negroes laugh, are dished up to the 
Levantines by the Teutons. We do not even want 
to shrug our shoulders; that would make these 
Germans who are watching us too happy. One 
among us rolls the sheet into a ball and throws 
it into the w^ater; our impassive glances pass over 
these Germans encrusted along our hull. But 
under our uniforms our hearts beat a little faster. 
A new arrival distracts us from these un- 
pleasant neighbors. Tlie children of the French 
school, conducted by French monks, bring us their 
rosy faces. Instead of games in the schoolyard, 
they have been rewarded with a view of the great 
ship, the ship which brings into the harbor the 
majesty of the great unknown nation. The ancestry 
of these children is diverse; their parents were 
born in Armenia, in Syria, in Thrace or Mace- 
donia, but the gentle hand of France has already 



IN THE ADRIATIC 131 

moulded their minds. They laugh with pleasure, 
their eyes show animation and clearness, traits of 
French thought. They rise and sit down again, 
curious to see everything, disappointed in not 
coming aboard, boisterous and friendly. When 
they go back regretfully in the twilight, they crane 
their young necks after us for a long time, and 
suddenly their young voices chant a thin but 
touching *^ Marseillaise." Their voices are in- 
harmonious, their feeling breaks the verses, but 
the distance and the hour give to the sacred 
hymn an unbearable beauty. Like a perfume 
from our native land it floats over the water, fades 
away in the setting sun, and over there near the 
jetties becomes so faint that we seem to be hear- 
ing across space the song of our soldiers crouched 
in the trenches. 

At that moment the sun disappears, and the 
cruiser makes its customary evening salute. Two 
gun shots resound in the pure air ; our brass band 
plays the *^ Marseillaise;" the entire croAV, hats off, 
turn towards the flag, which slowly descends from 
the top of the mast, brushes the bridge and guns 
in passing, and the soul of its native land comes 
to rest £ ^f tly on the steel deck. During the night 
hours this standard, rolled up, preserves the love 
of France in its folds, and to-morrow, unfurling 
them to the sun, it will make them float anew on 
the seas we sail. Every evening and every morn- 
ing in the wandering life of the sailor^ these 



132 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

religious moments bring together Nature and 
Country, the two eternities; more religious even 
to-day in the presence of a thousand witnesses 
who are deeply moved. Standing, uncovered, all 
our comrades turn their gaze towards the tri- 
colored symbol, tinted with the blood, the purity, 
the hope, of our native land. In fury our enemies 
turn their heads away. The colored flag descends 
gracefully, smiles at us, but sets the others at 
defiance. 

The water, purple for an instant, darkens and 
freezes. Our steam cutters disperse the boats, 
for the Waldech-Rousseau must be solitary 
through the night. In this country where so many 
thieves prowl about, vigilance must not be relaxed. 
The German boats do not want to go. We jostle 
them, chase them, and soon the spies' faces have 
been cleared away from the approaches of the 
ship. 

The night lights are lit in Saloniki; its quays 
are blazing, its slopes are flaked with light; the 
highest mingle with the stars. Dark and silent, 
the cruiser takes up her sentry duty; the road- 
stead is fast asleep, and the cold gradually covers 
it with a new shroud. On board it seems as if 
everything slept too, but the eyes of the look- 
outs never close, and the flag of France can repose 
in peace. 



IN THE ADRIATIC 133 

Pomte Kassandra, 10 December; 
On the Fight in the Falklands. 

What a fine revenge! The German squadron 
was sailing down the American coast. In this 
vast ocean she thought she had realized the am- 
bition of the Kaiser : * * The future of Germany is 
on the sea!'* Admiral von Spee, the herald of 
Teutonic glory, was unfurling in the harbors of 
Chile the standard he said was invincible when 
a telegram from Berlin recalled him, probably to 
the North Sea, in order to add the strength of 
his cruisers to that of the fleet at Kiel. 

The Scharnhorst, the Gneisenau, and two small 
cruisers began to double Cape Horn. They 
cleared the spur of the American world. I myself 
long ago went through the tempests and frosts 
which must have enveloped the German squadron 
in these windy seas. She reached the Atlantic, 
and turned tovv^ards the north. On the map of the 
world the AdmiraPs pencil had traced the routes 
leading to the Antilles, to the Azores, to the 
United States, to Ireland, and the northern lati- 
tudes of Norway, en route for the tunnel of the 
German chenaux. Protected by the luck w^hich 
had followed him from China and Tsing-Tao, he 
expected no disaster. 

In the South Atlantic the British leopard had 
placed his paws on the Falkland Islands; he had 
been foresighted enough to store there immense 
reserves of coal. The Scharnhorst, the Gneisenau, 



134 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

and their companions, made for this valuable 
booty, which they counted on seizing and strip- 
ping; for the place is as lost on the ocean as a 
helpless vessel. The German sailors, as they ap- 
proached, had all the pleasure of playing a 
legitimate bad turn on their enemies. 

But the wrath of Britain had launched on the 
sea great cruisers armed with fouet. Their orders 
were to discover these malevolent beasts, to chase 
and to scourge them to death. From the Mediter- 
ranean and from the English coasts, their gray- 
hounds started on the merciless hunt, and swept 
the ocean as with a rake. Every time they put 
into port, they filled their magazines, they listened 
eagerly to the news of the world, and sailed ever 
farther south. When they learned that their game 
had turned along the American coast, they pre- 
pared for the grand hunt, assembled, and 
anchored in the Falkland Islands, in order to coal 
by night and lose no instant. 

How strange the fate of ships at sea ! Twenty- 
four hours later, and the coaling would have been 
done ! 

In the dawn of the next day, the lookouts on 
the Falklands saw the columns of smoke from the 
enemy ships in the distance. They came on like 
a cyclone. Admiral von Spee on his bridge was al- 
ready imagining the telegram which should an- 
.nounce to Berlin next night his extraordinary 



IN THE ADRIATIC 135 

prowess. But from the islands which they 
thought were deserted, they suddenly saw emerge 
in the morning light the prows of the great 
cruisers with their powerful guns. He counted 
them. He recognized their strength. His signals 
ordered flight. But the English pack had sniffed 
blood, and until evening it ran and killed. 

I have just read the respectful words which, 
like an epitaph, the London admiralty dedicates 
to their fallen enemies. Admiral von Spee has 
nobly ended a stainless career. Far away in the 
midst of the beauty of the Levantine, the officers 
of my cruiser at first rejoiced at the victory. Then 
they saluted him, for one does not need to know 
all the final details to respect an end so glorious 
as his. 

The ScharnJiorst and the Gneisenau were 
cruisers of our owai class, enemies of our o^Yn 
design. Wliy did they not choose us, three ships 
with our six smokestacks apiece ? The fight would 
have been glorious, and the glory to the French. 
Shall we never confront anything but a desert 
sea, or invisible submarines? 

Mediterranean, 13 December, 
Our mission is ended; we are going not to 
France but to Malta. The Cassandras were right, 
and this twelfth Christmas holiday I shall pass 
where. . . . Courage and patience ! Our comrades 
in the trenches are suffering in the slime and mud. 



136 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

We are commencing to freeze on a sullen sea. 
Winter will be hard for all the sons of France. 

For several days the Waldech-Rousseau has 
displayed the flag along the Levantine coasts. It 
has proved the vigilance of our country and her 
attention to the great cataclysms which are pre- 
paring in the East. It has encouraged the neutrals 
and informed the Turk that his turn will soon 
come. The cruiser has anchored nowhere. Her 
elegant outline passed far from islands or coasts, 
and the people who observed the smoke from her 
six stacks, co^ld prophesy the future from the 
sight. 

One morning we crossed the bay which is 
bordered by three nations, Turkey at Gallipoli; 
Bulgaria at Dedeagatch; Greece at Kavalla — 
respectively hostile, doubtful, friendly. 

Gallipoli: a rugged mountainous peninsula, 
looking like Corsica. Behind its heights winds 
the passage of the Dardanelles, the path to Con- 
stantinople. For the moment this approach is 
forbidden us, and our guns quiver in vain. France 
and England wait their hour; the punishment of 
the Osmanlis will come later. 

Dedeagatch: a seaport which Bulgaria con- 
quered in the recent war. It is a badly situated 
harbor on an unfavorable coast; it seems to be 
surrounded by a desert; we can see immense 
freshly plastered barracks. A prize of war, it is 
filled with armament; as a maritime station it 



IN THE ADRIATIC 137 

receives naval contraband for the Balkans. How 
many ships have we not halted who gave this port 
among their stopping-places? Our suspicions 
were rife ; we saw that through this port the Turks 
were kept supplied. But Bulgaria remained 
neutral, the ships' papers had all the proper en- 
dorsements, and we had to let them pass. 

Kavalla, Thesos and Samothrace : Greek harbor 
and islands. At the first the dissatisfied Bul- 
garians cast envious looks; they are inconsolable 
at having lost it at the same time as Saloniki. 
It is one of the bones of contention in an East 
which will never end its disputes- The name of 
this city will be famous before the war is ended. 
It was in the bosom of Samothrace that connois- 
seurs of sculpture found the statue which is the 
pride of the Louvre. In Paris at the head of a 
staircase, the perfection of her draped figure, with 
its graceful stride, delights the crowds who come' 
to see her. She symbolizes Victory. For having 
placed her in the temple of her masterpieces, 
France deserves to add a jewel to the crown of 
this same Victory. She will not fail to do so. 
Our wistful thoughts pass to the violet rocks 
where the Victory slept under the earth, waiting 
so many centuries until she should awake in a 
French museum. 

All these visions fade. Others succeed them, 
and each one brings a new dream. On a heavenly 
evening, one of the last fine evenings of the clos- 



laS THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

ing year, the cruiser passed Mount Athos, that 
jewel of the Christian faith. Her slopes are like 
a splendid robe sown with gems. The huts of 
hermits and solitaires cling to the sharp edges 
that the vultures and the eagles love. The pious 
men, who pass their lives preparing for eternal 
bliss, spend here their austere days, made frag- 
rant with prayer. 

Lower down, tlie convents form a ragged girdle ; 
soft colors, blue, rose and faded green, give a 
religious tint to tlie walls ; men, clothed in black 
— to represent the mourning for earthly passions 
— pray there for the sins of the world; they live 
on another planet, and the clamors of the world 
die at the foot of their sanctuary. 

Before tliese priests and seminarists our smok- 
ing cruiser passes like a comet which comes from 
the unknown and goes into the infinite. The priests 
of Mount Athos salute us; they send up rockets, 
pale in the twilight; they set off firecrackers and 
Bengal lights, and perhaps their united voices 
send us an affectionate welcome. But the mari- 
time comet passes; the noises reach it faintly, 
as the voices of men must reach the celestial 
altitudes. 

Around a little cape appear huge convents, with 
sparkling gold domes. They are beautiful and 
desolate. The faith of the Eastern peoples has 
raised these kremlins in the name of Christ, and 
the setting sun wraps them in a fire more radiant 



IN THE ADRIATIC 139 

than tlie kremlin of Moscow. Splendid color 
bathes the mountain and its cluster of religions 
buildings. As if to view the picture better, the 
Waldeck-Rousseau draws away ; it moves between 
the sun, hung in a glory of rose-color, and Mount 
Athos, shimmering under the caress of the light. 
With its cliffs shining and its ravines filled with 
colors, it seem3 alive, and changes like a poignant 
harmony of violins. Into the summit, the frosts 
of December have driven a nail of snow, which 
catches the changing smiles of the sun and reflects 
them, soft and tender, into space. In a few mo- 
ments the violet color takes possession of the sky,* 
then it fades imperceptibly, and the Waldeck- 
RoiisseaUj for this night of the voyage, sails on 
in a religious atmosphere. 

That man is to be pitied who is not moved 
by the enchantment of Nature, or who does not 
know the great Lessons of history. He is ignorant 
of those pleasures that never fade. For fifteen 
days the Ionian Sea has been surrendering to me 
its secret of our inheritance from the Greeks. 
Mount Athos and this fair evening reveal to me 
another heritage, that bequeathed by Jesus Christ. 

Long ago from the deserts of Palestine a voice 
was lifted among the Roman multitude. It 
brought back to earth those transcendant arch- 
angels whom the children of Cain had banished. 
The archangels are named Goodness and Justice. 
I will not pursue the story of their martyrdom 



140 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

here on earth. Like harmless little animals at 
bay before ferocious beasts, they have suffered; 
their hearts and bodies have bled ; and the wicked 
boast that they have driven them from the world. 

But a nation was found to receive these two 
trembling angels in her maternal hands. She re- 
vived them in her bosom ; from their lovely touch 
she got the courage to suffer, and as the first 
Christians threw themselves to the torture rather 
than deny the Divine Master, so France for more 
than a century, has been willing to die in behalf of 
her love for Liberty and Justice. 

In the month of August, 1914, with sword on 
high and bosom bare, she defied anew the per- 
petrators of cruelty. Her people and her ministers 
were not mistaken. Whether unbelievers or re- 
ligious men, their gospel and their justification 
are those of the Galilean. It is indeed from His 
divine parables, and not from the decrees of the 
old Germanic god, that France has gathered the 
flower which is planted in her crest. White and 
incorruptible, this flower has closed its petals dur- 
ing the weeks througli which we are living; but 
the German foulness shall not soil it, the shells 
shall not cut its stem, and the dawai is not distant 
when its opened petals will shed over the world 
a sweet fragrance. 

How beautiful France seems to me, and how 
much in love with her I feel to-night! French- 
men, realize your good fortune to have been 



IN THE ADRIATIC 141 

nourislied by so charming a mother ! In the womb 
of antiquity were formed two priceless treasures : 
Greek beauty and Christian virtue. It is our 
France who has saved them from death. No peo- 
ple, no territory, has been willing to receive these 
heritages. Will all our blood suffice to pay for 
this unhoped for splendor? Take care lest we 
weaken. Under my eyes in the moonlight there 
glide past ancient lands and islands, my memories 
cross the centuries, rest like arches upon the sup- 
ports of these legends, and form a bridge w^hich 
leads far away to Jerusalem and to Athens. 

Jerusabm and Athens! The barbarous Turks 
and tlie ignorant Romans have stripped the gilt 
from their glory. The sons of these two cities 
did not know how to defend their patrimony, and 
two thousand years of servitude, ruin and death, 
have delivered their helpless peoples over to the 
pity of history. Let us take good care not to 
imitate them. Ignorant and barbarian, the Ger- 
manic hordes menace us with their claws. The 
gracious mind and exquisite body of France are 
receiving the same affront as did her ancient 
sisters. But in this case the same catastrophe 
will not follow the same weakness. 

Let us forget the frivolous thought and dis- 
course of our former days. Beauty must be 
strong, and one can only smile when the fist is 
heavy. Let us suffer; let us know how to wait. 
From her dying sons France demands the right 



142 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

to shine resplendent. How much shall we not 
love her at the moment when, holding her spear, 
she undoes her iron tunic, and offering to the 
world a countenance flushed with feeling and eyes 
profound with the agony of battle, says in a voice 
broken with emotion and a smile brimming with 
pride: **I have consented to shed blood! Let me 
henceforth sow flowers!^' 

15 December y after the homhardment of 
British harbors by German cruisers. 

We too could acquire this glory of slaughtering 
women and children. Who prevents us in the 
Adriatic! To-morrow, if the French sailors were 
bandits, the world would learn that their guns 
had bombarded unfortified towns and the Dalma- 
tian Islands, and, protected by our cruisers' 
strength, had eluded the vigilance of Austria. 

Where on earth did the Germans learn war- 
fare! Does naval honor no longer exist among 
them! I cannot believe it. There are tasks which 
a sailor only accomplishes with rage in his heart, 
and those who fired at Yarmouth, Grimsby and 
Scarborough would ask pardon of God for the 
crime which their Emperor commanded. Only 
this man could have persuaded sailors to destroy 
peaceful towns. The sound of those shells he 
sent against a defenseless coast will whistle 
through history round his accursed name. 

You, commandant of the Emden, Admiral of 



IN THE ADRIATIC 143 

the cruisers sunk in the Falklands, captain of the 
armed liners, I can imagine you shuddering in 
disgust. Far away from the orders of your mas- 
ter, you caused a spotless standard to be feared 
on remote seas. Your conscience followed nobly 
the rules of war. You conquered. You have been 
conquered. In the great naval fraternity, no one 
thinks of uttering your names without taking off 
his hat to you. Before your defeat I would have 
pressed your brave hands, happy to touch fingers 
which no crime had sullied. But these cruisers 
of the North Sea, reptiles which smell of putre- 
faction — let them be tracked like stinking beasts 
— let them be executed like apaches of the sea, 
let them even be assassinated, and all sailors of 
the world, neutrals as well as belligerents, will 
think their punishment too good for their crime. 



PAET III 
IN THE IONIAN SEA 

End of December, 1914. 

IT is nearly two o'clock in the morning. Far 
to the south glides a line of phantoms. We 
left Malta nearly a week ago ; our monoton- 
ous cruising has almost effaced the very memory. 
It is a bad night. The rain is pouring down. The 
wind whips into our eyes and onto our lips hand- 
fuls of stinging nettles. I am shivering with cold. 
I see the file of boats and masts tossed by the 
swell. A British convoy is passing yonder, carry- 
ing Hindu regiments from the sparkling seas of 
Asia to the mists of Flanders. Its lights appear 
and disappear as it pitches on the water, and it 
does not notice our dark presence. 

Although unknown as their guardians, the 
cruisers have made the seas secure for these 
transports, which could not resist the smallest 
enemy torpedo. At a distance the French ships 
accompany them, keeping between them and Aus- 
tria, and at the end of the regular course, give 
over to other ships the duty of safeguarding them, 
and move away to new tasks. The boats that 

144 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 145 

come from India and Australia might fancy the 
sea was empty and that good fortune was direct- 
ing them to port. On certain clearer days, when 
they see almost imperceptible clouds of smoke, do 
they guess that these come from one of their 
guardian angels? 

If our task consisted only in freeing the route 
for these exotic allies of ours, there would be 
reward enough for the difficulty of our labor. For 
the first time in the history of men, a war sum- 
mons to Europe the children of immemorial Asia 
as defenders and not as devastators. Let us be 
the good artisans of this miracle. 

Perhaps later, in some unforeseen voyage, I 
shall pass through some bazaar on the banks of 
the Ganges, or admire under the limpid sky the 
mystic lines of a temple of Brahma. With his 
head in a turban and his feet bare, a brown man 
will approach me, his eyes will laugh with 
pleasure at sight of a Frenchman lost among the 
Hindu multitudes. His white teeth will light up 
his smile, and he will murmur a few words of 
the language which is so beautiful it makes one 
tremble under every latitude: 

**You, Frenchman! Paris. . . . Marseilles. . . . 
Good-day, monsieur!" this man will try to say. 
I shall turn back and return his smile. 

*^ Welcome!" I shall answer,,*^ to one who greets 
me in such pleasant words.'* 



146 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

And we shall walk together. This man, born 
in the Punjab, the Himalayas or the Deccan, will 
draw a marvelous fresco from the treasure of his 
memories. He will tell me of the battle of the 
Marne, the Oise or the E scant. His eyes will 
have a profound, fixed look from having traveled 
in so many strange lands; his surprising meta- 
phors will make live again the cities he saw dur- 
ing the intoxication of battle: Paris, Eheims, 
Ypres, and so many others. At certain moments 
he will take my arm, with respect at first, and 
then with confidence, as the ghosts of the past 
disengage themselves from a memory made 
drowsy by the Eastern sun. All the epic drama 
of Europe, already pale and unreal in his mind, 
will revive for the benefit of my melancholy joy. 

Perhaps too, if God is willing, my friend of the 
moment will prove to have pushed his victorious 
adventure as far as Berlin. He will draw from 
his bosom a picture wrapped in rags, a post card 
showing Unter den Linden or the Brandenburger 
Allee. Under the blazing sun of India I shall 
contemplate dreamily these grim buildings, and 
my thoughts will make my heart beat heavily, 
though I shall not betray my emotion. 

*^You see, monsieur, I got as far as that." 

He will put his finger on the Palace of the 
Kaiser, and the dignity of men who have accom- 
plished great deeds wdll shine on his dark face. 
Silently we shall gaze at each other, living a 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 147 

unique moment together. And tlien sometliing 
will break the charm, a street cry, a brawl of 
sepoys, or the barking of dogs. The Hindu will 
quickly hide the dirty picture, and will whisper 
more quickly still: *^ Afterwards I came back, and 
it was all over. . . .'' 

We will go on a few steps, but he will remain 
silent, having finished telling me all the romance 
of his life. This romance will not return. No 
Hindu will live it again. Hea^d down and hands 
folded behind my back, I shall find no words ade- 
quate to this dream of his, or to the shattering 
echo of our memories. On turning an alley, I 
shall offer him my hand, which he will doubtless 
kiss, and a few seconds later the eddies of the 
crowd will have parted us forever. 

Go, charming Hindu with your sunny soul, to- 
wards the dream which enchants your slumber as 
you are cradled in the rolling of the transport. 
My lids burn and I am chilled to the marrow, but 
you have nothing to fear. The cruisers watcli 
over your voyage and that of your brothers, for 
you are sailing towards France; and carry her 
your hearts and your arms, which are your only 
riches. 

1 January, 1915; three o'clock 
in the morning. 
I come down from the watch. My boots, my 
jacket, and my oilskins, drip in little dirty streams 



148 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

on the linoleum ; my hair is matted with salt, and 
a bad headache, driven into my temples by the 
rain and the squalls, prevents my getting to sleep. 
The close cabin, hardly longer than a railway 
compartment, smells of rubber, of tar and is ran- 
cid. The steam heater adds a mustiness of hot 
metal ; the exhalations of boilers and engines Alter 
through the decks, and saturate everything with 
a stale odor; the hull receives the eternal blows 
of the sea's battering-ram that storms angrily 
against it. Through the joints of the port hole, 
which is screwed down as tight as possible, ooze 
threads of water which dribble along the wall and 
form a pool. For I know not how many days, 
the cabin has not received the least whiff of pure 
air, and the electric lamp shines grotesquely in 
the thick atmosphere. 

With a towel, already soiled with coal dust, I 
remove the crust of salt and soot that is stuck 
on my face; then I wash my numb fingers in the 
little pool that dances at the bottom of my basin. 
Seated before my papers, my archives, I follow 
the movements of the cruiser as it rides the squall. 
Familiar lice and roaches risk timid voyages 
across my desk. A bold gray rat gnaws old cigar 
stumps and string in my waste paper basket. He 
is not afraid of me, and I do not disturb his little 
feast. What a sinister opening to the coming 
year! 

Where was I just now, on the bridge enveloped 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 149 

in water! In the interval of my watch the year 
1914 joined the dead and 1915 lived his first mo- 
ments. A shower of rain gave its blessing to this 
agony and this birth, and a gale with lungs of 
steel howled with all its might. The clouds and 
the sea made a chaos in which sailors had difficulty 
in seeing anything, and the cruiser, tossed in the 
hollow of the waves, could scarcely keep its course. 
A hundred or two hundred miles away, other ships 
were burying their prows in this cataclysm of 
water, and struggling in the vast desolation. 

The ** naval army'' is grieving over two recent 
disasters — the torpedoing of the battleship Jean 
Bart J and the loss of the submarine Curie, In the 
brotherhood of the sea, the injury or disappear- 
ance of a single ship creates a painful void. 

The Waldech did not take part in this last 
Adriatic expedition, in which the fleet went once 
more to tempt the Austrians. It had other tasks ; 
without it, the cruisers, battleships and destroyers 
went up the liquid avenue, and spent some time 
there. After a futile waiting they returned in 
triumphant march to the strait of Otranto. 
Slightly enervated by their unprofitable effort, 
they were perhaps less strict in their vigilance, 
and went slowly, disdainfully towards an enemy 
restive for combat. But Austria, who accepted 
no fight in the open, had despatched on their 
course her venomous beasts. Through the lens 



150 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

of his periscope the commander of the submarine 
at Cattaro saw the splendid array of battleships 
rising on the horizon. The proud, thickset, form 
of the Jean Bart led the fleet on the return as 
it had led them on the ascent ; on the mast floated 
the flag of the Commander-in-Chief, and his 
officers sadly surveyed the empty sea. But the 
Austrian, crouched in the waves, trembled at the 
approach of his unhoped for prize; each one of 
the men enclosed in the flanks of the submarine 
was keyed to the combat. 

Oh! the minutes that these sailors and their 
commander must have lived through! Must one 
not envy them the emotion of their discovery and 
of decisive action at last? Boldness and courage 
erase frontiers; one feels jealous of an enemy 
for the supreme beauty of a dangerous coup like 
this. With all his energy concentrated in his eyes 
and on his lips, the lieutenant of the Austrian 
vessel watched the powerful battleships coming 
towards him; he maneuvered in short zigzags, to 
right and left, higher and lower, like an artist. 
If he showed himself, he and his crew would meet 
instant death. All the noblest and purest facul- 
ties of the officer rose in him. When his calcula- 
tions and his experience told him that the Jean 
Bart had reached the fatal place, he gave two 
orders, and two torpedoes, at a few seconds* in- 
terval, threaded their way through the waves to- 
wards the hull. 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 151 

One passed harmlessly behind the Jean Bart, 
and disappeared. But the other exploded against 
her prow. The heavy sound warned the sailors 
that the sea was seeking a victim. Through the 
breach the water poured into the breast of the 
battleship, tore open and twisted the compart- 
ments, and did not stop until it reached a wall 
strong enough to resist the pressure. Like a 
stunned fighter, the Jean Bart lowered her fore- 
head and sunk her brow in the water. She carried 
more than a thousand men, but not one showed 
fear. Before disaster could happen, all of them 
did their instant duty, and the ship survived. By 
good luck the torpedo had been fired tw^o or three 
seconds too soon; otherwise it would have de- 
stroyed her. In a few months she again took her 
place among us. 

The Waldeck-Roitsseau has had her own risks. 
Several times she has been attacked by sub- 
marines, but doubtless her very familiarity with 
this danger has kept her from being struck. Her 
crew are happy over her having escaped the fate 
of the Jean Bart, But what has the future in 
store? Let us continue to do our duty; let us watch 
with even greater vigilance, and keep our good 
ship from the hospital or the grave. 

Since this accident to the Jean Bart we scarcely 
venture on the Adriatic except for very definite 
purposes. The enemy submarines have demon- 
strated their presence, which could be denied so 



152 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

long as none of our ships, tlirongh good fortune 
or skill, had been actually hit. It is a habit of 
men's minds to depreciate the danger which does 
not touch them. After the admiral's ship had 
been struck, the zone of operations was moved 
to the south, in the Ionian Sea. The ** beats" of 
the cruisers are longer, and the weather is fright- 
ful. This sea is a regular gathering-place for 
the winds. Coming from the four quarters of the 
horizon, the sons of .^^olus meet here and riot. 
The end of the Adriatic and Albania breed a keen 
icy capricious north wind which descends at a 
great velocity, rushing out of the corridor formed 
by the banks, expanding suddenly in the open, 
and turning the waves upside down. By way 
of Epirus and Morea, the winds of the east and 
southeast come from Syria and Asia Minor, and 
raise the stormiest seas. Endless fogs are carried 
over by the fringes of the simoon, from the hot 
south and the sands of the Soudan and Libya. 
And the strong west wind, born in the Atlantic, 
blown over Gibraltar and Sicily, rushes up and 
throws gigantic waves against the wall of the 
Ionian Islands, thrusts them back, cuts them and 
joins them again in wild and formless masses on 
which we leap and roll as if intoxicated. We see 
nothing but the gray elements of rain and wind, 
mist and spray. The ships avoid these latitudes, 
where few of the commercial routes cross, and 
which our presence renders still more undesirable. 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 153 

It is a sort of desert place in the city of the sea. 
Sea birds accompany ns no longer ; they fly in the 
heart of the gales. A troubled void, a journey of 
the Wandering Jew, that is the present existence 
of the cruisers. 

Just now on going to the watch, my comrade 
and I, in order to celebrate the New Year, took 
to the bridge a bottle of champagne, a poor cheap 
bottle of champagne, some renamed Saumur, for 
our ship does not possess any rare vintage. In 
the shelter of the navigation-house, five glasses 
had been placed on the map of the Ionian Sea; 
they covered Sicily, Apulia, Corfu, the Pelopen- 
nesus and Libya; the bottle occupied the sector 
of the Waldeck-Rousseau, and in the storm 
awaited the five officers on duty. A black and 
icy rain was falling. The chill bit into one's flesh. 
When we stretched out our hands we could not 
see the tips of our fingers. A dripping steersman 
came howling in our ears — *^ Captain, it is mid- 
night!'^ ** Lieutenant, it is midnight!" 

Bracing ourselves against a gale which almost 
tore us from the deck, we wiped our weeping eyes. 
We could not all get into the shelter-house; a 
group of two or three slipped in by turn and those 
who were not drinking continued the lookout. We 
stood under the wan streak of an electric light 
among books, confidential documents, maps, not 
daring to stir for fear of wetting these precious 
papers. We uncorked the bottle, which in popping 



154 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

made a pretense of sparkling, like onr own false 
gayety. We raised the glasses. Drops of water 
fell from our sleeves and our fingers shook. We 
awaited the toast, but not one found anything to 
say. France invaded. . . . War stretching into 
the long future. . . . Our families, so far away. 
... So much sorrow. . . . No professional 
pleasures, and no hope of battle. . . . Accursed 
weather and a frozen body. ... In our eyes 
shone something moist w^hich was not rain; we 
were sad but tried to smile. The glasses trembled. 

**To France !'' I murmured at length. It was 
the only brilliant thing to come to my mind. * ^ To 
France I'^ responded the others, and the glasses 
chattered against our teeth. No one finished his 
glass. After one swallow we could drink no more, 
but set our glasses down anywhere. The wind and 
rain rushed in by the half-open door, and one 
after the other, with choking hearts, we resumed 
our dim vigil on the bridge. 

Two hours more before going below, two hours 
of tempest and anxious revery! Like a star shin- 
ing in the midst of a hurricane, the mind watches 
in a body worn with fatigue. Across space the 
great tragedies of the dead year surge out of the 
past, and assemble in the mind of an officer har- 
assed by the wind. Paris delicious in Spring 
and Summer. . . . Plans for the future. . . . 
The thunder of Serajevo. . . . The knife struck 
by Austria into the throat of Serbia. . . . The 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 155 

diplomatic storm. . . . The war. . . . The Prus- 
sians near Paris. . . . The immortal Marne. . 
The Adriatic hunts. . . . Drowning Eussia. . 
Unchained Turkey. . . . Serbia invaded and freed 
. . . Dramas of the sea. . . . Five months of ex 
hausting cruises. , . . The submarine Curie. . 

3 January, after several watches 
and had weather. 

The Curie! Twenty days ago, I was talking 
with her Commander, who confided to me his 
hopes. A fine, intelligent-looking man, he thought 
with vigor and spoke gently. He was preparing 
a raid as far as Pola, an Austrian base, and gave 
me the technical details, and the arrangements for 
this remarkable enterprise. A reflective en- 
thusiasm brightened his talk. Such an officer on 
such a boat, with the crew he described, was justi- 
fied in attempting the impossible. I envied his 
good fortune. 

But Fate, the god of sailors, did not wish him 
to win. Wireless messages informed us that the 
barrages had stopped the Curie in the very harbor 
of Pola. Later the survivors of this epic adven- 
ture will give the details of their audacity and 
their failure. To-day they languish in some Aus- 
trian fortress. God grant that some day I may 
press the hand of the Commander. 

All alone, like the lost child of the ** naval 
army,'' the Curie had started through the danger- 



156 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

ous fields of the Adriatic. I do not know its route, 
the alarms it had, the ruses it used. Moving by 
night, hiding by day, darting its keen eyes over 
the horizon, it went along the coast of Italy as 
far as the Austrian line. At the end of the Adri- 
atic it moved among ambushes; every wave of 
the enemy sea represented its winding sheet. 
With body and soul equally hardened, the twenty- 
five men approached the hostile labyrinth. Their 
joyous hearts endured everything — the irregular 
meals, the suffocating atmosphere of the steel 
prison, the smell of oil, the whiffs of hydrogen, 
the sulphurous and oily vapors which make the 
head heavy and turn the stomach, the alternations 
of glacial cold and torrid heat as they came to 
the surface or submerged, the alarms and the 
dangers, the marvelous hope of penetrating the 
strongholds where the Austrian battleships had 
locked themselves in with a triple lock, the fear 
of running aground on the threshold, and the 
tempest of thought that crosses the minds of gal- 
lant men at the moment of action. 

6 January, 1915, 
One day, at the end of their hunt for danger, 
they see vagnie shadows on the horizon. It is the 
Austrian coast ; it is Pola. Faint streaks of smoke 
hover over the further end of the well-guarded 
harbor where the Commander imagines the fleet 
to be. The prow of the Curie turns towards this 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 157 

cemetery; for whether it is their own or their 
enemy's; some one has to die in this adventure. 
Officers and sailors make the great dedication to- 
gether, a generous offering of their youth and 
strength to their remote native land. The 
submarine submerges. They hear nothing more 
except the lapping of the waves on the ship, the 
purrings of the motors, as submissive as the obe- 
dient souls of the men, and the brief orders of 
the officer. 

He and the others see nothing. But through the 
periscope the land rises into view, the smoke be- 
comes black, the coasts reveal lighthouses, forts, 
promontories, and at last he perceives motionless 
masts. Between him and these masts lies the net- 
work of dikes, barrages and nets; against him 
the Austrian Argus levels a hundred eyes and a 
hundred arms — torpedoes, mines, guns, outguards, 
semaphores, and sentries. None of the sailors 
hesitates. Motionless before their valves and 
their hand-levers, they await the order of the man 
who is watching, and long to anticipate his will 
so that they can accomplish their task still sooner. 
They maintain the profound silence which pre- 
cedes great deeds, and hope thrills in their hearts. 

The steering-gear is handled, the manometers 
announce the various depths; the submarine 
touches bottom, and runs afoul on the shoals brist- 
ling with traps. An even prof ounder silence set- 
tles on all. Like statues of flesh, the men's hands 



158 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

are firm and their gleaming eyes are fixed on tlie 
man whose eyes in turn remain rivetted to the 
periscope. But one can guess from the quivering 
of his forehead, and the sound of his voice, the 
danger that approaches, the danger they are 
touching, the danger they are passing. ** After 
God, the master on his ship!^' says the naval 
proverb. This officer is a god, whose exactness of 
word and vision is responsible for the lives of 
twenty-five men ; through the magic of confidence, 
they experience all his emotions. 

The Curie has passed through. Obstacle after 
obstacle has been overcome. Through the increas- 
ingly bold behavior of their commander the sailors 
guess that the prize is near. Sleeping at their 
anchorage a short distance away, float the battle- 
ships. Who would have thought that a submarine, 
coming from the Ionian Sea, would ever penetrate 
into the very heart of Pola 1 The Austrian crews 
are off their guard; their officers, glass in hand, 
are doubtless stooping over the maps, and joking 
about the French Navy. It is a feast day. Who- 
ever is not on duty is amusing himself on land. 
In the gay town toasts must be going round to 
celebrate the German victories, and in the squares 
the bands are playing Wagner or Brahms. Pola 
resembles some pretty town of Gascony or 
Provence, that is well protected from the enemy; 
between the morning paper and the evening com- 
munique she forgets the great drama of the dis- 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 159 

tant war. But the Curie is moving about in the 
depths of the roadstead. 

From this moment, the wireless messages tell 
us nothing ; Austria acknowledges nothing. What 
did our submarine dof Did she disable, did she 
sink some ship that thought herself invincible! 
Or else, tacking towards the battleships, was she 
caught too soon in some treacherous barrage? 
The last news told of her being stopped by the 
steel meshes. Going or coming? The mystery 
will be well guarded. What despair, what death 
in the midst of life, when the twenty-five heroes 
of the Curie understood that they could get no 
further! They heard a grating along the hull; 
it was the prow penetrating the mesh, like a fish 
in the dragnet. Warned by this sinister sound, 
the Commander tried to reverse the engine, but 
the steering-gear at the side, with projections like 
fins and gills, was already entangled in the metal 
gauze. Then, however the Curie moved, the mass 
of the net softly followed, bending without break- 
ing or permitting passage. How many times did 
her Commander repeat his maneuvers in search 
of safety? I do not know. What miracles of 
ingenuity did he not employ? I do not know. 
Every effort useless, he turned away his eyes, big 
with horror, from the periscope to the interior 
of the boat, and looked at his alert men, the great 
engine which he had directed to the goal and which 
would never return; he thought *^We are lost!'^ 



160 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

Did he pronounce these words? What if he 
did not ! Everyone understood them and forgave. 
Since they had come either to die or to conquer, 
they accepted death along with the officer, and did 
not reproach him. They looked at each other with 
eyes that were melancholy but not afraid. They 
were merely regretful. They were ready for 
asphyxiation, poisoning, hunger, thirst, drowning, 
madness; all that was as nothing to the price of 
their failure. 

While this was going on, electric bells in con- 
tact with the barrage, announced that something 
had been caught in it. The lookouts exchanged 
stupid glances, refusing to believe that it was a 
submarine. At first they supposed that a snag 
was moving the barrage, and were convinced only 
when they saw the eddies, and the bubbles of air 
on the surface which showed that a live thing was 
struggling below. 

The hypothesis of a French submarine never 
occurred to them at all, and they telephoned the 
Admiralty, which became anxious. Some sub- 
marine of the station, returning to the fold, was 
struggling in the barrage, the intricacies of which 
it should have laiown. At once the chiefs sum- 
moned all the officers of the submarines, prepared 
to give a sharp reprimand to the foolish com- 
mander who failed to respond, after they had 
rescued him. But the officers all presented them- 
selves. At length they all admitted that, in spite 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 161 

of the improbability, the devilish Frenchmen had 
reached the end of the channel. The admirals 
were silent, as one is silent before a miracle. 

How many hours did the Curie spend in trying 
to break its bonds, like a noble stag stamping its 
hoofs and tearing its legs? But they could be 
saved neither by their knowledge, nor their 
prudence, nor their perfect audacity. No other 
crew, I swear, would have succeeded where they 
were sirranded. Exhausted, the steel fish slowly 
rose to the surface. 

8 January, 
And the lookers-on saw the boat that had come 
from France. It was immediately showered with 
shells from guns and mitrailleuses, but the sailors, 
nearly asphyxiated, opened the narrow panels. 
Now that their death was no longer necessary, 
they consented to live, and the volleys spared this 
superhuman body of men who were surrendering. 
Pola assembled to see the landing of the sailors 
who had emerged from so impossible a feat. The 
survivors passed along, still staggering from their 
extraordinary adventure. I w^ager that the crowd 
made not a single unfriendly gesture against these 
martyrs. Perhaps, before these faces, so hand- 
some and so terrible, and these ragged garments, 
the women crossed themselves, and the men 
saluted. The sailors of the Curie did not then 
receive the benediction of France, but in the re- 



162 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

spect of their conquerors they read the magni- 
ficence of their unsuccessful enterprise. 

And we who sail the Ionian Sea award this crew 
the palm with invisible leaves. When in the mid- 
dle of the storm, our imaginations begin to recon- 
struct this epic drama of our brothers, w^e envy 
them, we begrudge them the feat, and would ex- 
change all the vagabondage still before us for 
the few hours which those men lived. 

The admiration is not unjustified. In these days 
our enthusiasm is not spent foolishly. For the 
citations and the orders of the day create a roll 
of gallant men before whom one prostrates one- 
self almost as before angels. Before the war the 
most hopeful of us scarcely suspected that our 
wonderful race would prove so courageous. If 
we are so astonished and delighted, the world will 
be too. We live in an age which the Greeks would 
have peopled with demigods, and a Homer who 
attempted their celebration would scarcely have 
found words adequate to hymn them. 

The fecund soil of France has given birth to 
all the virtues. There each soul becomes a tree 
on which flowers have suddenly grown. The 
coward becomes bold; the egoist, generous; the 
atheist kneels before his country. I fear that these 
miracles are not so evident to Frenchmen living 
on their native soil, but the exiled sailors are not 
deceived. And yet all they have to go by is papers 
a«nd letters, black print upon white. Across these 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 163 

lines passes a breath like the pure wdnd which 
sweeps a dark sky. All becomes clear and bright. 
Perhaps one must be far away to admire the halo, 
shining fairer hour by hour, which encircles the 
destinies of one's country. The faults and errors 
vanish like dark spots on the gorgeous disk of 
the sun. Every French thought is a ray from 
a rising star. These rays are so warm, and carry 
so far, that they reach even us who live among 
the storms. 

Day before yesterday I read two letters from 
the same mail. The weather was like the end of 
the world. Formless and gray, the mists poured 
over the troubled sea; the cruiser struggled in a 
circle of specters with liquid hair, who smothered 
the dying light. The two envelopes lay on my 
desk, that rolled as the ship tossed. In ink upon 
expensive paper, the first one contained an ad- 
dress in angular handwriting; the second was on 
cheap paper, in which the wavering writing had 
made holes. One gave forth a delicate perfume, 
which reminded me of the fair Parisian who al- 
ternated between love for her Pomeranian and 
the pretentious inanities of tango teas. To her 
husband, an encumbering sort of toy, she accorded 
only what the Civil Code ordered in the way of 
marital duties. The second envelope had no per- 
fume; perfumed paper is unknown to the puny 
little stenographer whose services I made use of 
in Paris. She was a fierce anti-militarist; her 



164 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

father and her brothers talked themselves hoarse 
in meetings at the Salle Wagram, and I was often 
shocked at her anarchistic ideas. 

In the first excitement at the end of July, it 
happened that I saw both women on the same 
day. 

**You will see," said the first woman, resting 
a careless hand on my shoulder, during the tango 
*^you will see that the common people will sabo- 
tage the mobilization. These fellows are rebels. 
Sooner than fight they will surrender to William." 

To one of my subsequent questions she replied 
haughtily : 

*'My husband? My husband? What are you 
talking about? All the same they will not have 
the audacity to call out men of thirty-five!" 

And, after a silence: 

**I do not expect to lose him. A¥e should go 
to the country." 

The tango was finished without another word. 

That same evening the stenographer brought 
me some pages. She was flushed, and her eyes 
flamed. I counted the pages carefully and paid 
her. Without looking, she pocketed the money, 
and remained standing, trembling. I was careful 
not to say a word. 

* * And you ? " she said at last. ' ^ Would you go ? " 

'* Certainly!" 

'*Well! It^s your war!" 

**My war?" 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 165 

"Yes! The war of the upper classes, the 
officers, the idle people who carry swords!^' 

"Ah!'' 

"Certainly it is! You are going to make ns 
kill ourselves to the last man, so that you can 
be masters afterwards." 

"All the same, mademoiselle, you will keep your 
father and brothers. Their opinions compel 
them. . . ." 

"Hey? What's that you say I" interrupted the 
mutineer. "They have ordered their new boots, 
and papa refuses to guard the railroad. He wants 
to go to the front. But it is not for you they 
fight, ladies and gentlemen, but for France ! ' ' 

God forgive me, I found nothing to reply. A 
few minutes later, having descended several steps, 
she became timid and correct, and leaned against 
the banister. 

"You are going far away, sir. . . . The sea is 
terrible ! ' ' 

"It is my profession." 

"One can be drowned." 

"One can swim." 

"Would you be happy? Should you like it? 
Anyway, forget what I said. Can one write to 
naval officers?" 

"They may even answer." 

"Indeed?" 

"Yes." 

Her sharp heels rang on the staircase. And 



166 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

every month since she has written two pages to 
her patron, the officer, the bourgeois. 

**My father is happy,'' says the letter in the 
last mail. *^They have put him fifty kilometers 
nearer the Boches. My young brother has had 
his foot frozen, the other has lost his left arm, 
and won the Croix de Guerre, You see that all 
my people are well. They are bored in the 
trenches. They would like very much to get at 
the Germans. The officers say that that will come 
later. One believes them, doesfi't one, because 
they get themselves killed first, and do not risk 
their men's lives? You are very fortunate to be 
an officer, and if in the navy they are like what 
they are in the army, I am well content with 
France which. ..." 

Thus writes my rebel of former days; sincere 
to-day as then, she is the happier now for hating 
nobody. 

*^My dear husband," says the perfumed letter, 
** received a splinter of shell in his right shoulder. 
In fifteen days lie can return to the front. I am 
obliged to feed him, for he has difficulty in using 
his other hand ; he lets things drop into his beard, 
which is not nice. I should like to keep him, but 
I do not dare tell him so. I am not a heroic 
woman, and I am not afraid to acknowledge the 
fact to you. However, when I see these poor 
little soldiers in my hospital, who smile so sweetly 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 167 

in spite of their suffering, I nnderstand that I 
have no right to keep my husband. If you could 
see these dear wounded men ! They thank you so 
bashfully. They find simple words to express 
great things, and they look at their nurses with 
such kind eyes, and so respectfully that I feel 
unworthy to dress their wounds. . . .'' 

Thus my idle lady. I am sure she has quite 
forgotten her old bitterness. I do not care to 
remind her of it. 

All the letters that come from France are just 
as good, and contain sentiments that do not sur- 
prise me in the least. Wives, mothers and sisters 
of fighting men, have learned the sorrow of 
separations that may be eternal. Since my en- 
trance into the Navy, how many such letters have 
I not received, each line betraying anxiety? But 
they were written by women of the sea, if I may 
so put it, women accustomed to anxiety. The 
majority of Frenchwomen were not acquainted 
with this style ; but it did not take long for them 
to discover it. For the same anguish creates the 
same words. 

These women hate war in the same way that 
our women curse the sea ; they as much desire to 
keep their dear ones out of the terrible battle 
as ours rejoice when they learn that we were far 
away from a certain wreck or explosion. Their 
hearts are tortured by that suspense which makes 
them blanch at a telegram, and catch their breath 



108 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA, 

at the sound of the postman's step. Who better 
than we naval men can understand the silent tears 
which will be shed by all the beautiful eyes of 
France! 

By some secret sympathy the wives of soldiers 
use the same words which used to make us dream. 
They drive back their tears and try to smile ; their 
letters tell us news, slip in anecdotes, and are 
silent about the mysterious scourge of the war. 
They carry themselves bravely, but the tones of 
their voices betray them. Near the beloved one, 
sharing his danger, facing the same death, they 
would be indifferent and cheerful. But they are 
alone. They can only wring their hands and raise 
them to God. 

In times of peace only sailors were blessed with 
the love of these Penelopes, these Hecubas, these 
despairing Antigones ; to-day this love is lavished 
on all the heroes of France. If they die in battle, 
the mourning in their homes will be like the 
mourning in so many sailors' homes: a dumb dis- 
tress, faces buried in hands, bodies shaken by 
ceaseless sobbing. If they return they will see 
what our eyes have seen on our homecomings— 
these faces made sublime by the patient waiting, 
these eyes grown larger, these lips closed tightly 
on inexpressible suffering. They will know the 
long embraces, in which arms are stiff as chains 
of tenderness, and the mad beating of hearts, 
broken by infinite joy; they will listen to words 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 169 

that are never heard by those who never go away. 
Survivors, you will some day become acquainted 
with the poignant sweetness of the homecomings 
of cruisers, for to-day all the women of France 
are the wives of sailors. 

Henceforth you will appreciate the power of 
simple souvenirs. A lock of hair, an amateur 
photograph, a muslin handkerchief, a penny pen- 
cil tooth-marked by some economical housewife — 
everything becomes a souvenir, everything creates 
homesickness. During long hours in the trenches 
or on sentry duty, these little objects will take 
you back to the sanctuary of your loves ; you will 
appreciate the bonds of affection, to which per- 
haps you were careless because habit had dis- 
guised their sweetness. In the muddy furrow 
where your body is growing mouldy, and your 
blood is freezing, these secret amulets will warm 
your heart. 

We too in our moving cabins keep priceless 
treasures and talismans. 

10 January, 
On this damp steel vessel of ours, where some- 
times we are burning, sometimes frozen, the 
weather and the salt air discolor and thin out 
our memories. The faces that enchanted our lives 
take on smiles that are a little faded, watch over 
our weariness and our uncomfortable slumbers, 
and hold with us silent conversations, in which 



170 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

more is said than ever was said in other days. 
One's heart softens, one forgives, one makes new 
resolutions. The defects of the loved one dis- 
appear nnder new charm, and the proudest 
among us reproaches himself for ever having 
been rebellious. 

After such conservations, the exile of the seas 
pursues his monotonous task with a lighter heart. 
The furnace of the engine room and the icy bridge 
are thronged with phantoms who alleviate our 
austere labor with their invisible caresses. As at 
the beginning of the war, I should like to present 
a few pictures of the essentials of our existence, 
in which we kill time in tedious activity. But I 
can no longer do it. Nothing comes to me. The 
resumes in which I sum up our daily activities 
and which I extract from the log, are pretty signi- 
iicant. They are somewhat like the movements of 
a cloud, supposing it could thii^k — its going.: and 
comings, its risings and descendings, without ever 
being able to imagine either the causes or the 
effects. Why should I not merely copy here the 
journal of several days taken at random? The 
date matters little ; the explanations which I shall 
add will apply just as well to past weeks as to 
months in the future. 

SUNDAY. Sailed fo a rendezvous in the bay 
of Katakolo where the fleet of battleships is sta- 
tioned. 4.50 P.M.: anchored at Quilles S 77 E 
of the light of Katakolo. 6.05 p.m.: got under 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 171 

weigh in line behind the Court et; the Renan and 
the Democratie behind ns. The two other squad- 
rons to the south. Night cruise. 

MONDAY. 5.30 a.m. : in sight of the light of 
Katakolo. 3 a.m. : anchored at lm.5 S 89 E from 
this light. Boats in the roadstead: Courhet, 
Renan, Diderot, Danton, Condorcet, Mirabeau, 
Voltaire, Paris, France, Patrie, Democratie, Re- 
puhlique, Justice, C ommandant-B ory , Chasseur, 
Voltigeur, Lansquenet, Canada. 4.45 p.m. : weighed 
with the Renan, 6.30 p.m. : started on a route to 
south and west of Zante. Night cruise. 

It was one of those Sundays in the Navy when 
everything is covered with gloom ; weeping clouds, 
high seas, whirling icy wind. We were sailing 
steadily over a forsaken part of the sea, when 
a wireless from the Commander-in-Chief ordered 
us to the west coast of the Morea, to the bay of 
Katakolo. The dripping officers looked up the 
description and maps of this harbor we had never 
visited. As what we had to call evening fell, we 
approached the rendezvous. We could see noth- 
ing there. The rain came down in torrents, shut- 
ting out the view and almost the air and space. 
Suddenly there appeared the vague outlines of 
the ships, as if drawn in pencil and brushed over 
with glue. So short-sighted were we that we went 
near to them to be sure that these huge shapes 
were not tricks of the rain. Cowering in the rain, 
they seemed deserted, and we passed carefully 



172 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

between their motionless lines, as during a 
thunderstorm a traveler makes for his home 
through streets that are lined with houses set close 
together. 

15 January. 

Our anchor fell, and we heard nothing but the 
pattering of drops on the metal. As the night 
deepened our ship and our neighbors seemed to 
thin out like ink in a washbasin; but the signals 
flashed on the mast of the Courhet, the Admiral's 
ship. Eed and white, they had difficulty in cross- 
ing the rainy whirlwind, and their sparks made 
even more sinister this winter twilight. They 
ordered the squadrons to get under weigh. Dur- 
ing the night, which is favorable to surprise at- 
tacks, the ships never stay in strange or open 
roadsteads. 

All together we weighed anchor, and took our 
distances and our proper intervals. The night 
had completely fallen, the storm was increasing 
in violence, the unlighted ships groped about like 
blind men seeking their places in a ballet. Im- 
mense outlines approached, passed, disappeared, 
in the evolutions of the night; an error in the 
distance or route, a mistake in calculating the 
phantoms which moved all together, might have 
caused an irreparable disaster. At these move- 
ments nothing but their work exists in the minds 
of the sailors ; family, country, war and affection, 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 173 

are abolished ; one is simply a part of his vessel, 
like a gun or a smokestack. 

While certain battleships, separating into two 
groups, sail to the south as a reserve, the Courbet, 
the WaldecJc, the Renan and the Democratie, go 
in Indian file on the parallel assigned to them. 
One behind the other at a distance of a thousand 
meters, pitching and rolling for two hours west- 
ward, then two hours eastward, all night long 
they struggle through the waves. Through the 
stormy night the officers of the watch, in their 
turn, attend to their professional duties. Some- 
times they lose sight of the shadow that is the 
ship ahead of them, and fear they are not taking 
the prescribed speed; they increase it, leaping 
ahead into the blackness ; the rain redoubles, and 
they increase it again so as not to lose touch with 
their neighbor ; the rain lessens, and an enormous 
mass, looming on the water, high in the air, rises 
almost within touching distance. 

It is the ship in front, which the clearing of 
the rain suddenly reveals, and which we should 
ram if we did not reverse with all possible haste. 
Orders are sent to the engines, w^hich slow down. 
The dangerous mass buries itself in the rain ; the 
officer on watch is glad, and thinks: **A11 right 
this time. ..." At this moment, to his right or 
left, there emerges from behind a dark spot which 
does not at all resemble the rain. The officer 
observes it carefully. His inflamed eyes finally 



174 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

make out that the ship at the rear, which also has 
lost us, has increased its speed, and is about to 
ram us as we had just escaped ramming the other. 
He puts on speed ; the ship aft diminishes, recedes, 
disappears in the darkness to fall back doubtless 
in a few minutes on the fourth ship of the line, 
which will have thought herself lost too, and been 
about to seek her comrades in her turn. 

In the deviltries of this bad weather the officer 
in charge wears himself out solving these prob- 
lems. Every minute of his watch is accompanied 
by a crisis, a pang, a cold sweat. His eyes meet 
only the gale, the stabbing gusts of rain, and 
downfalls of water. The hours pass. His eyes 
become painful burning circles. When he tries 
to sleep on his restless bunk, his eyes resist sleep, 
e sort of nightmare, accompanied by the rolling 
of the ship, makes illusory forms plunge before 
him in the darkness. 

18 January/. 
In the morning the three groups of ships re- 
turned to the bay of Katakolo. This morning we 
found delicious, because the sun, though invisible, 
had whitened the edges of the clouds, and the 
monotonous rain had given place to brief 
showers; fragments of rainbow, scattered over 
the network of the waves, brightened the gray 
web of the sea. And land was near, fair, almost 
gay, under the false smiles of day, after beirg 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 175 

lashed by so many weeks of rain. At the edge 
of a little jetty some slender masts were swaying 
like bushes ; from the white houses of the port a 
road emerged, winding among the rocks, the olive 
orchards, and the herds, towards a town situated 
on a hill. Green foliage covered the buildings of 
this little town, which the distance rendered im- 
posing. Small imagination is necessary to give 
grandeur to the stones in Greek lands; as our 
eyes rested on these buildings, that were perhaps 
very ugly, they sought there some temple with 
classic colonnades or majestic portals. Illusion of 
our memory! This town is named Pyrgos, this 
province is Arcadia, and the brook which flows 
into the bay was formerly celebrated by the name 
of AJpheus; unconsciously we are paying its in- 
significance the homage which has been won for 
it by the divine liars of Greek poetry. 

But why discuss such meager pleasures! This 
coast and anchorage are pleasant; would it not 
be more worth while to enjoy a few agreeable 
hours? Moreover, our order for departure has 
come, for it would be strange indeed for a cruiser 
to remain forever in one spot. The weather is 
spoiled, no more rainbows or showers. The rain 
begins to fall again, and shuts out all the light. 
The Waldech-Rousseau, accompanied by the Ern- 
est Renan, weighs anchor. 

In a few minutes the two cruisers part from 
the battleships. When shall we see them again? 



176 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

They follow their vague courses in the south, 
wandering from roadstead to roadstead, and re- 
maining in each without doing an\^hing. They 
cover fewer miles than the cruisers, but their 
existence is perhaps duller. We watch, they wait ; 
we run risks, they take shelter. Certainly I had 
dreamed of another kind of warfare, but I prefer 
the campaign of the cruiser to that of the battle- 
ship. 

Just as troops in the army are transported by 
railway to the seat of operations, so the great 
ships tow the French submarines to the entrance 
of the Adriatic. Their base is in the bay of 
Plateali, behind the palisade of the Archipelago. 
Between two chases towards Pola and Cattaro, 
they assemble around an old battleship, the Mar- 
ceaiij which serves them as mother ship. The 
Marceau collects shipwrecked crews, renews the 
commissary, furnishes its tools for repairing the 
small engines. Anxious to get away, the sailors 
of the submarines work with file and anvil, and 
are happy when they shorten the delay by a day, 
or an hour. 

We go to look for the Gay-Lussac, whose turn 
for refitting has arrived. After a night of heavy 
seas, the WaldecJc-Roiisseau clears the narrows 
of Dukato. In default of fine weather, she finds 
here a little calm. Ithaca, Cephalonia, Santa 
Maura, the Echinades, and the splendid moun- 
tains of Epirus are capped with mist; a foaming 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 177 

sea rages round their base; brooks cover them 
with a silver network. Some strips of fog float 
in the channels, cling to the rocks, and tear apart 
like carded wool. 

A winding channel opens out on the cove of 
the submarines and the Marceau. Crouched in 
the depths of their den like a nest of strange 
animals, they look gray and shiny; a thread of 
smoke is rising lazily from the battleship; the 
Gay-Lussac, ready to depart, is throwing from 
its stacks short black wreaths of smoke. Islands 
and rocks form an enclosed frame all about the 
waiting Waldeck-Rousseau. Some rocks are 
formed like saws, crafty and dangerous reefs, 
scarcely emerging from the water ; others suggest 
a face left unfinished, where some capricious giant, 
after sculpturing the rough outline of a chin, a 
nose, or a jaw, has fixed them there forever; cer- 
tain ones reveal exquisite curves, which one wants 
to caress like the back of a supple cat or the thigh 
of a statue. 

The Gay-Lussac detaches itself from the group, 
and emerges from Plateali. On our after deck a 
group of seamen are arranging the towing tackle ; 
the prow of the submarine halts a few meters 
from us, and we make the proper maneuver. We 
can distinguish the features of our comrades in 
their cramped black garments. Their young 
faces, ruddy w^ith a fine color that has been tanned 
by the spray, are gravely happy. A foAv words 



178 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

are shouted down to them; brief responses come 
back. 

**Are you ready?" 

*^ Quite ready." 

*^Do you need anything?" 

*^ Nothing at all, thank you." 

^^We can start?" 

''Go ahead!" 

The steel cable unrolls in the water, measures 
its length, tightens, threshes about like a serpent 
fringed with foam, falls back, and the submarine 
begins to follow us. Cautiously we increase the 
speed to the prescribed rate, and begin the pas- 
sage of the straits and channels. We cannot easily 
perform evolutions, because the Gay-LussaCj two 
hundred meters behind us, would ram us if we 
doubled too short. 

The destroyer Moiisqueton heads the proces- 
sion, moving with ease and grace. All muscle 
and speed, her pretty body Avinds through the 
islands, the guardian angel of our present cruise. 

Towards evening we come out on the high seas. 
The bad weather has not become permanent, but 
the crossing will be unpleasant because of the 
short choppy swell that comes from Corfu and 
Santa Maura. Already the Mousqueton is covered 
with showers of spray; the Waldech-Eousseau 
slowly heaves and rolls ; at the end of the towing- 
line, which vibrates like a rubber band, the Gay- 
Lussac bounces in the swell. The dull twilight 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 179 

comes on; the clouds descend a little lower, the 
wind rises, a gray night follows the slaty evening, 
and we begin the crossing which will be twelve 
or fourteen hours liKe so many others. 

In the middle of the night I take the watch and 
look for my two comrades. If I did not know 
that they were there, I should have difficulty in 
finding them. An indistinct spot in front of the 
prow seems to keep us company ; it is the Mousqe- 
ton. She rises and falls like a dripping black 
cloth which a laundress shakes incessantly. She 
lurches ceaselessly right and left, mthout find- 
ing any support, and reflects restless gleams in 
the night. Thanks to this dark artificial fire, I 
do not lose track of her. 

The Gay-Lussac is following us back there 
among the hills of water. The sentries on our 
cruiser, on the side of the towing line, can tell 
by touch whether it remains taut; as long as the 
cable is tight, the submarine has not left us ; noth- 
ing except its sudden slackness could warn us of 
a break of the line. Several times I go do^vn to 
the after deck, unable to tell with my eyes whether 
the Gay-Liissac is there or not, but the tension 
of the cable reassures me. 

Towards dawn Fano rises on the horizon, and 
near six we prepare to cast off the submarine. 
Our engines slow down ; we haul in the cable. The 
officers have interrupted their sleep, and Mgr. 
Bolo, always curious about the sights at sea, leans 



180 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

on the rail for the last maneuver. On the sub- 
marine the sailors, like shining tritons, loosen the 
tow; its commander raises his arm to indicate that 
he is free ; his screws make an eddy in the water, 
he turns its head to the north, and the WaldecJc- 
Rousseau turns to the west. The Albanian moun- 
tains watch over this silent parting. How small 
the submarine looks, swept by the ceaseless 
waves! How weak it seems as it goes to risk 
its life in the vast ambushes of the Adriatic ! And 
how melancholy is this silent departure, without 
a handshake, in the rainy and sullen dawn ! From 
the height of our great ship we feel our hearts 
tighten. It is much like seeing a little child cross 
alone a square Avhere automobiles are passing, one 
wants to say: ** Don't go any farther. Come back 
on the sidewalk." And at the same time one 
approves its boldness, and encourages it from the 
depths of one's heart, without even thinking of 
the danger. The sailors of the submarine no 
longer look at us. Their eyes scan the sea, at 
the end of which they are to fulfil their duty. 
One desire alone fills their souls; to play their 
part well and not to weaken. They are not angels. 
The life of each one of them undoubtedly con- 
tains many faults, and I would not swear, that 
when they are turned loose on shore, they do not 
give way to every intemperance. But at this 
moment those ugly things no longer exist. How- 
ever gross in their failings, sailors are noble in 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 181 

their deeds. At the instant that the Gay-Lussac 
passes behind us, the officers raise their caps, and 
the priest, without a word, extends his right hand, 
blesses and absolves these gallant men. 

They go back up the path which the Curie 
traversed. They go to hold the sentry-post of 
honor before the enemy coasts, and none can fore- 
tell their fate of glory or death. Like their 
brothers they seek in the Dalmatian Isles before 
Cattaro some ship worth sinking. But probably 
the Austrian spies have not failed to follow our 
cruise, and the Gay-Lussac will find nothing. For 
three or four days, to the limit of its breath and 
its electric power, it will prowl invisible. Through 
the lenses of the periscope its commander will 
see the aviators describing great circles in search 
of it ; he will make out the onset of the destroyers, 
wall hide himself in the depths of the sea, and 
will hear the passage of the screws above him, 
frantic but impotent. 

20 January, 
One evening, out of breath, aching in body and 
soul, he will descend the Adriatic, the Ionian Sea, 
the Archipelago, to the harbor where not even 
repose will be his reward. The entire *^ naval 
army" when it hears the news will breathe more 
lightly at the wireless which announces : * ^ The Gay- 
Lussac is returned. ' ' And will share in its discom- 
fiture at the postscript: **It has seen nothing. '^ It 



182 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

will hardly have left the shores of Austria when 
the ships will begin to move more freely, until the 
coming of the next one. Such is the Odyssey of 
the submarines of Plateali. Good luck, Gay- 
Lussac! 

22 January. 

The WaldecJc-Rousseau has left the Albanian 
waters and reached its cruising sector. The Ionian 
Sea is divided into rectangles of vast extent, each 
one of which represents the territory of a cruiser. 
There she patrols for several days, reaches the 
next sector, and so on until she comes near land. 
Then she coals in all possible haste, goes to the 
farthest rectangle and begins all over again. Our 
post for the day is far in the west near the strait 
of Messina, at the end of the Italian boot, and 
we do not reach it before twilight. We take a 
route outside the cruising zones. 

Two masts and four smokestacks rise on the 
horizon like a play of shadows. It is the Gamhetta 
prowling about. She sights us, approaches 
swiftly, assures herself that we are friends, turns 
back and disappears. For several hours we see 
nothing but the surge of water and the clouds of 
shifting slate. And then the Michelet looms up 
in her turn, having just recognized us. We profit 
by this proximity to perform a telemetric exer- 
cise. In the course of this exercise the two 
cruisers execute a hundred movements which 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 183 

bring them together, and separate them, by any- 
where from five to fifteen thousand meters; the 
gunners at their places, the telemetrists at the 
measuring apparatus, at the proper moment note 
the distances. Ships Avhich meet by chance do 
not fail to indulge in this practice. A signal rises 
to mark the end of the exercise. 

The Michelet returns to its patrol, and we push 
towards the west. By evening a great wall bars 
our horizon. Later a light gleams out with a 
pale track across the water. The lighthouse is 
called Rizzutto, and shines at the base of the 
Calabrian mountains. If the weather were more 
favorable we could see the summit of Etna in 
a clear atmosphere. Its beautiful outline would 
make us forget the proud heights of Albania, in 
front of which, this morning, we parted from the 
Gay-Lussac. But the sailor must be satisfied with 
a gloomy evening and a sullen sea ; his only friend 
at night will be the light of Rizzutto, which we 
shall lose and find again as we move towards the 
offing or towards the coast. We have another 
companion in the w^ind, which whistles itself out 
of breath, perhaps for fear we should think it 
asleep. 

Early in the night, as the cruiser nears 
Calabria, a sort of luminous halo plays over the 
land. We recognize the aureole of a town. Over 
there, human beings are at rest, or amusing them- 
selves, or talking pleasantly before sleeping. 



184 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

Here, dressed in leather and rubber, the sailors 
struggle with the gale and defy shadows in w^hich 
danger may lurk. This contrast haunts the minds 
of the lookouts. Are they happy in their sentry- 
duty in the rain I Do they envy the Italians 
sheltered in their peaceful homes! The two ideas 
alternate, and in order the better to curse the 
Calabrians who are giving them not so much as 
a thought, the sailors look for the name of this 
troublesome to^^Ti on the map. 

It is called Crotona. In the days when Rome 
was weak and Athens powerful, she waged re- 
peated and bitter war against her rival Sybaris. 
Softened by too much luxury, the Sybarites could 
not defend themselves against their powerful 
enemies, and Crotona, after effacing her volup- 
tuous enemy from the world, survived throughout 
the centuries to show the light of her lamps this 
night to some passing French sailors. 

Have we not a right, we officers, companions 
of the darkness, guardians of a crew of gallant 
men — have we not the right to send our dreams 
across the war to the regions of antiquity! The 
carefree Sybarites left a name w^hich serves only 
for jesting. The map is almost ignorant of the 
exact places where they ignominiously disap- 
peared, and the pick of the excavator exhumes 
only chalky debris. The people of Crotona be- 
queathed the future to proud descendants, because 
the sweetness of life did not make them disdain 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 185 

wa.r. A stern lesson which we repeat in the biting 
north wind and the rolling waves; a parallel 
which forces itself upon one in these hours when 
France gathers herself together against the bar- 
barians. But I have no doubts about her. The 
men of the Gay-Lussac who went this morning 
towards Cattaro, the men of the Curie, who were 
stopped by the glorious net at Pola, the men of 
the *^ naval army^' who since August have lived 
in company with hardship, the men who freeze 
in the trenches of Artois and the Vosges, the 
men who have fallen on the plains of Flanders 
and Champagne — these men will not play before 
posterity the role of Sybarites. 

25 February, 
Like feudal barons, who lance in hand ride over 
their empty manors ruined by war, the cruisers 
traverse a lifeless waste. During the slow succes- 
sion of days, they are glad to sight, by chance, 
the stacks of their companions of the patrol. As 
she comes to the boundaries of her rectangle, the 
sister ship seems to give us a nod and a good- 
day. Suddenly our world is alive again. Our 
thoughts are directed toward our neighbor, and 
her's toward us. Whether it is the Renan, the 
Quinety the Gamhettaf or an entirely different one, 
we follow her and accompany her movements ; the 
sailors abandon their work and their reveries for 
this reality which wavers before them. 



186 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

*^Slie is approaching!'' 

^^I see her bridge!'' 

^^Look, tlie forestack is pouring out black 
smoke. They are stoking up the fires ! ' ' 

^^Ah! She is coming on the left. Her masts 
are passing one after the other." 

**Are we not a good twenty-two thousand'meters 
away?" 

**She is farther away. Do you still see her 
masts?" 

^^Yes! No! Yes! No! No more." 

The cruiser vanishes and our world becomes 
empty again. This lasts a day or a week. Some- 
times between two clearings of the weather some 
darker spot appears in the distance, cloud or 
mountain, cliff or play of the clearing storm, no 
one can say. But the mechanics and the stokers, 
the hidden hosts of the depths^ who come on deck 
between two watches ask curiously in the 
darkness : 

*^What do we see over there?" 

The gunners and seamen, with a grand manner, 
repeat the scraps of officers' talk they have over- 
heard and remembered. They announce the 
oracle: **It is Epirus;" *4t is Apulia;" '4t is 
the Peloponnesus;" *'it is Albania;" '4t is 
Etna;" ^4t is nothing at all; we are a hundred 
miles from land." The baffled men store up these 
complicated names, and in the next letter to their 
fathers or to some women in the country, each 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 187 

will write them down painfully ; the strange words 
will carry to French cottages the echo of our 
geographical Odyssey. I should like to know the 
impressions made by these sonorous names, full 
of dignity, but without meaning to the ignorant. 
What do our brave sailors see in this fresco of 
coasts which we never approach? They are like 
the imaginary forms created in sleep; wavering, 
rising, disappearing on the borders of the horizon, 
they pass like Edens where we shall never land. 
The cruiser goes and comes on its rectangle of 
water, and while the officers strive to guess the 
meaning of this formless nothingness that emerges 
from the rain, the sailors pursue their dreams, 
the rain falls or is blown away in the caprices of 
the gale. 

Yes, we pay to the hilt the ransoms for our 
patrolling! Nothing moves on the sea any more 
that carries an enemy flag. Nothing suspect ap- 
proaches us. Masters of the seas, we have made 
it a desert for those who do not work for our 
side. If I dared, I should say that we have done 
our task too well, for everything which our coun- 
try gains through our vigilance, we lose in bore- 
dom. The days of visits and searches is over; 
even these small distractions have fled from our 
daily labors. If there are contrabandists, they 
stick like woodlice to neutral shores, aud carry 
to Austria or Turkey, at the price of increasing 
risks, the precious goods which become rarer 



188 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

every day. Their detours are long and laborions, 
but we can not harass them so lorig as they fre- 
quent the territorial waters. Sensitive to their 
sovereign rights, Greece and Italy, by the regula- 
tions of war, do not permit us to approach their 
coasts ; we are condemned to remain in the offing 
which our persistent surveillance has devastated. 
Doubtless Austrian subm^arines are moving under 
the waves. The hour for one of us will perhaps 
strike. Woe to the ship that becomes careless 
through lassitude! 

But at least, on the great routes from Gibraltar 
to Suez or Saloniki the English and French tran- 
sports are sailing without impediment. Formerly 
their fleet moved westward carrying to Marseilles 
or the Atlantic ports the men and products of 
the East. But for several weeks, since the entry 
of the Turks into the war, a second route has 
been established and is more frequented every 
day. Bases of operations are being installed in 
the -^gean Sea, in the Greek Islands ; naval forces 
are assembling there; a few detached cruisers 
watch the coasts of Syria and Asia Minor; and 
multitudes of active troops are congregating down 
there. 

2 February, 

All these movements go on in silence, the silence 
that is the proper preparation for enterprises of 
war. The world does not yet suspect what is 
going on; its ears have not heard those names 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 189 

which, unknown to-day, will before long "become 
famous. But the sailors pursue the task, and 
their souls quiver with joyous anticipation of these 
military glories in the East. 

Sometimes, from a cloud charged with light- 
ning, there is slowly detached a massive shred, 
that one can scarcely distinguish as it glides up- 
ward to some clear portion of the sky. The cloud 
swells, extends and forms into a new storm which 
rages, far away from the clouds which engendered 
it. Thus, born from the European War, a new 
war is in secret ferment ; before the thunderbolts 
fall on the lands of Islam, we are preparing them 
in the mysterious and silent seas. We are ac- 
quainted with the daily effort, the cautious ap- 
proach of the Allies, the legions of gallant men 
who caress their guns during the long Mediter- 
ranean crossing. But we take no pride in this 
knowledge. We expect to go on protecting the 
march of the soldiers towards glory. And we 
hope for the supreme joy of sharing their risks, 
hand in hand, so to speak, they on land, and we 
on the restless element of the sea. 

At present the seventh week of our pilgrimage 
is closing in hail and frost. Since our trip to 
Malta, before Christmas, we have experienced all 
the evil moods of the weather, which grows an- 
grier and angrier. At night, one falls and hurts 
oneself on the sleet-covered steel decks, as on a 
hard mirror invisible and yet in motion. 



190 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

5 February, 
Like seed thrown by some terrible hand, the 
hailstones bounce on the cruiser, which rings like 
a tambourine; and the sea, whipped up by these 
projectiles from the sky, makes a noise like a 
boiling liquid. The organ of the winds harasses 
our watches. Dismal and raucous, they stride 
breathlessly over the miles of water; their rage 
vents itself on the ship, and on our bodies, in 
icy handfuls of spray; when they strike against 
the cordage and metallic structures, they whistle 
and sing like evil geniuses filled with mirth. We 
know the harmony of each cord, of each halyard, 
of each cable, as they vibrate above our heads. 
Whether short or long, thick or thin, made of 
hemp or twisted steel, they have their share in 
the tireless orchestra. Certain ones give out in 
the north wind a clear and joyous sound, like a 
fife, bagpipe or flute. Others, melancholy strains 
like cellos and oboes, reminding one of the bells 
of one's native village, of beloved distant voices, 
of all the sweetness of France to one forlorn in 
nights of exile. But the hollow, tolling notes that 
are thrown from the heavy, wet cordage, sound 
a perpetual knell that is heard above everything. 
If one stops one's ears, their sinister bass pene- 
trates one's fingers and head. They are always 
there. They are triumphant. To the cold of the 
body they add the chill of the soul. 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 191 

6 February. 

Montenegro is dying of Mmger. From the top 
of its barren mountains its people can see the 
Adriatic, and imagine the prosperous lands in 
the distance, Africa and Italy and their crops. 
Towards these bountiful harvests they stretch 
their appeals and their greedy hands ; but famine, 
following war, is devastating their homes. 

Despite her own agony, France does not sus- 
pect into what horrors the present tragedy can 
plunge the peoples who are cut off from the world. 
In Paris and in the provinces there is food, and 
subsistence. Whatever the price, meat and bread 
can be bought at the butcher's and baker's. 
Montenegro has nothing. Walled up in a dungeon, 
its women and its soldiers scatter to the four 
winds appeals which do not feed them. 

From the north, Austria is waging against it 
that same campaign of devastation which she be- 
gan against the Serbs. To the south, Albania, 
that courtesan of pillage ; only waits the command 
to throw her bands into Cettinje. To the East, 
Serbia, hemmed in, remains alive only by a tena- 
city which will amaze the future. And, finally, 
towards the West, the sea, closed to the nations 
without navies, leaves deserted the harbors of 
Montenegro, and empties her granaries. 

In spite of that, she does not hesitate. At the 
first insults hurled against her by her Slavic 
cousins, each man took his cartridges, wound 



192 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

around his legs the puttees of war, and went to 
the frontiers to fight in defense of honor. If I 
had not forbidden myself to inscribe here events 
which have nothing to do with the Navy, I should 
tell of this drama of skirmishes, raids, night 
assassinations, in which a handful .of moun- 
taineers, without arsenals or foundries or com- 
missary supplies, or routes or guns, renews every 
week, against the immense arm: iS of Austria, the 
exploits of Leonidas against Xerxes. 

But this perseverance, invincible to the attacks 
of men, has to yield to the sufferings of the body. 
To conserve energy in his muscles, precision in 
his eyes, firmness in his will, the Montenegrin 
has to have food. They call for help. Since snow 
and mud have taken possession of their kingdom, 
Prince Nicholas and his ministers send out wire- 
less messages of supplication. Smothering their 
invincible pride and the shame of yielding to 
hunger, they tell us every day the story of their 
distress. Just now, in some district that had been 
bombarded by heavy artillery, the storehouses 
were burned, and the meager provisions of a year 
destroyed. Another day, Croatians and Bosnians, 
pursued by the Austrian butchers, took refuge in 
ruined Montenegro; as gifts they brought only 
their hate and their hunger. 

Nevertheless, this little agrarian population 
opened their arms, and for these people mthout 
a country they deprived themselves of a pinch of 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 193 

wheat from their o^\ti pittance. Our wireless 
poles receive a new story of distress every mo- 
ment; the children are dying, the soldiers have 
no more shoes, the cartridge boxes are empty, 
and the mules are dying along the roads where 
they find nothing to eat but snow. 

Who will feed these unfortunates unless it be 
generous France? For months the ^' naval army" 
has supplied Montenegro. In the Ionian Sea 
cargo-boats come to get orders from the Com- 
mander-in-Chief, and then go to the ports of 
Antivari or Medua. They bring wheat, corn, 
equipment, munitions, and empty them in haste 
on the wharves, fearful of these dangerous waters. 

These are enterprises for contrabandists and 
pirates. The Austrians know our least move- 
ment, spy upon the arrival of our cargo-boat ; and 
their submarines, and aviators, and destroyers, 
make any unloading by -day impossible. Every- 
thing has to be done at night, between the setting 
and the rising of one sun. 

Far from the coasts a squadron ascends the 
Adriatic. It is composed of a precious battleship, 
some destroyers and large cruisers. We keep a 
careful lookout, for the enemy lies in wait. At 
the fall of evening, the squadron arrives off port ; 
the cargo-boat and the destroyers turn aside; the 
cruisers push farther north towards the ap- 
proaches of Cattaro, in order to prevent the first 
attack. At a little distance from the roadstead 



194 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

where tliey unload, a line of destroyers cruises 
about all night, ready to repulse any sudden at- 
tacks. In the harbor itself are anchored one or 
two other destroyers, motionless sentinels of the 
affair. The cargo-boat approaches the wharf. 

There is nothing to be seen. The rain, wind 
and hail fall in avalanches from the icy heights. 
We must not show a light Montenegrin soldiers 
try to oifer their assistance, but they know little 
about delicate maneuvering, and in the darkness 
they get in the way. Somehow or other the com- 
mander of the cargo-boat manages to get it along- 
side the wooden jetty; he strikes it, tears his hull, 
breaks the hawser, swears and storms. The 
sailors of the destroyers' come to help ; they find 
their way to the wharf in small boats. With agile 
fingers and feet they grip the uprights, take hold 
of the cables and grojjingly make them fast. The 
boat clings tight to the quay, and immediately a 
stream of sacks, cases and bales pours out. The 
Montenegrin soldiers come up, seize the black 
things in the darkness, drag them up the bank, 
run, stumble, fall. One must work quickly and 
keep silent. Up above, the camps and the huts 
are waiting. 

But a noise in the air makes us prick up our 
ears. It comes from the north, a droning which 
is louder than the wind. It grows, and intrudes 
itself into the darkness like a sonorous wail. An- 
other sound, duller, from farther off, accompanies 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 195 

it and draws near. Others follow, like dark wasps. 
These are the aviators from Cattaro. The sound 
of their flight rolls in the air above the harbor, 
diminishes and descends, makes a circle about the 
wharf, diminishes and descends again, directly 
above the cargo-boat. The target is indicated by 
the heavy sound of the bales and the hurried steps. 
A shower of bombs falls. 

It is impossible to respond. The Montenegrin 
coast is not organized against aviators. The pro- 
jectors that one could light on board would only 
draw the shots with greater precision ; the crews, 
handicapped, occupied with the unloading, cannot 
fire guns or cannon. On the wharf, in the water, 
on the deck of the boat, the bombs burst, setting 
fire to the woodwork and the cases, mixing with 
the storm a suffocating smoke. Terrified by this 
unaccustomed enemy, the Montenegrin soldiers 
grow slack; the sailors, however, pursue their 
perilous task humming a song. 

Sometimes a shell falls into the hold which is 
being emptied. If it bursts, some men are mowed 
down ; if it rests harmlessly on the piles of sacks, 
hands seek it in the dark, seize it, throw it into 
the water, and the work continues. Exhausted by 
past watches, the crews work through this night 
without losing a second, and find means to stow 
neatly the sacks which will be of no use to them. 
No matter which destroyers and cargo-boats take 



196 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

part, the same business goes on at the wharves of 
Antivari and Meclua every three or four nights. 
While this is going on, the destroyers maintain 
a defense at the opening of the bays. The hearts 
of the men are anxious when they hear the fall 
and see the bursting of the bombs over their toil- 
ing friends. But their own turn is not long de- 
layed. Before returning to Cattaro the airmen 
do not hesitate to drop their visiting cards on 
the sentinel squadron. But for fear of betraying 
their position, the latter do not reply. At their 
post on the sea, wiping the spray from their faces, 
the sailors hear the descent of the bombs, scream- 
ing in the north wind, and keep their spirits 
equally high whether the shells touch or miss the 
mark. 

8 February. 

Further out, further north, the cruisers scout 
between Cattaro and the menaced harbors. To- 
wards the end of one of their Ionian cruises, the 
Commander-in-Chief designates them in succes- 
sion for this work; they do not care for these 
expeditions in which there are blows to receive, 
but none to give. 

For from beginning to end of these voyages to 
succor Montenegro danger is present. Every 
time the cruisers ascend the Adriatic, they meet 
with mines set loose by the Austrians, which trail 
adrift, like evil beasts too lazy to run after their 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 197 

prey. On our last cruise the Waldeck and her 
comrade saw several, though the brown speck is 
scarcely distinguishable upon the blue carpet of 
the waves. We approached them at a respectful 
distance, for fear they might be bound together 
like beads, and that other mines, invisible, would 
hit us as we passed. We demolished them with 
gunfire, without halting; they burst and sank, 
throwing off an inoffensive sheaf of yellow smoke. 
But what will happen to the ship that strikes one 
of them in the thick of the darkness, where one 
sees nothing? 

And then, as the cruisers do every time, we 
watched all night the approaches of Cattaro, 
ready to receive the submarines and destroyers 
which will not fail sooner or later to attack the 
supply-boats at Antivari or Medua. In the misty, 
rainy atmosphere the searchlights of the Austrian 
harbor flash and sweep the sea, searching for the 
enemy they suspect to be within range. These 
great white restless eyes wander ceaselessly to 
right and left, and halt sometimes upon us. But 
the cruisers are so far away, shrouded in rain, 
that the enemy confuses them with the sheets of 
rain that are falling. Behind*their guns, lighted 
up like specters, our gunners hold themselves 
ready to reply to the fire of the batteries if they 
begin. But nothing happens except a silent wait- 
ing; the searchlights abandon our vague outline, 
and go on indefinitely sweeping space. 



198 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

From hour to hour our anxious wireless asks 
news of the unloading. And the destroyer 
anchored near the cargo-boat answers in short 
phrases : 

*'Eain and hail. Half done." 

Or else: 

*^Very bad weather. We do not expect to be 
through before six in the morning." 

As night wears away, thanks to the tension of 
mind and the bad weather, disquietude increases 
on the cruisers. They w^ould like to be nearer, 
sharing the danger of the others. They fear some 
catastrophe before dawn. 

The other night we saw some suspicious lights 
in that direction; short sparks like will o-'the- 
wisps A\^iich succeeded in traversing the leagues of 
rainy air. The officers on the watch stood by 
helpless at these signs of the drama that must 
be going on. Soon the wireless despatch arrived, 
and was feverishly translated by the ensign on 
duty. 

**The airmen are bombarding us. The bombs 
are exploding on deck. One fell into the hold. All 
the Montenegrins have fled and taken shelter on 
the shore. We fear we shall not be able to finish 
at dawn. The Austrians continue the bombard- 
ment." 

Immediately the WaldecTc replied : ' 

^^If there is too much danger, or you are no 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 199 

longer mimerous enough, stop the unloading, leave 
the harbor; we are coming to your assistance.'' 

Without waiting for a response, we made for 
the bombarded harbor, moving at top speed, 
for fear we should arrive too late. But in less 
than ten minutes our rush was stopped short by 
the wireless reply, which showed their astonish- 
ment at our proposition. 

^^We will continue alone. We will not leave 
until daybreak. There is almost nothing left to 
unload. ' ' 

They did as they said! They did even better. 
How did they iind means to increase their 
strength, to make up for the flight of the Mon- 
tenegrins ? They did not even think they had done 
a big thing, but at dawn the holds were empty, 
and on the wharf were heaped to the last one the 
bales that had been in their charge. Ah ! the brave 
sailors ! 

9 Fehniary. 

Long hours flow away. The January nights 
seem eternal when one has to live them wide 
awake. But at last the sky pales in the East, 
the lights of Cattaro sink into the grayness and 
a sharper cold revives the watchers a little. It 
is dawn. 

Empty or not, the cargo-boat casts off its 
hawsers, and as clumsily as it entered the night 
before, it leaves in the morning. On the wharf 



200 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

are heaped the supplies for Montenegro; more 
will be brought in a few days. The stevedores 
go back to the destroyers, and exchange their 
night's fatigue for that of the engines and the 
work of navigating the ship. The procession 
forms again in the mist, and goes down the coast 
of Albania in good shape. Without ballast, the 
cargo-boat dances in the midst of the convoys like 
a cork. At a great distance the cruisers continue 
their proud vigil until all this little company is 
out of harm's way. Then they feed their fires, 
stretch their legs, and limber up with a little gal- 
lop as far as their Ionian sectors. 

Or else between sunrise and twilight, they coal 
in some hidden bay. And if chance favors them, 
they receive letters, and bundles of papers which 
have wandered in pursuit of them over the vast 
sea. Although it has left France so many weeks 
ago, and is already old, and made stale by events, 
the news is read and commented upon with 
passion. 

The sailors are not turned aside from the great 
drama by any mediocre or banal concerns. Among 
all the people of the world, it is they who vibrate 
most strongly to all the joys and troubles of 
France. Their clear vision, free from passion, 
judges calmly the conflict of the two parties. 
Better than anyone, thanks to the patience of their 
pilgrimages, they discern in the future the reasons 
for victory and the heavy ordeal of attaining it. 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 201 

Bent on tlidr secret task, they do not heed the 
dazzlement of victories. They know that their 
collaboration, decisive as it is, will be effaced by 
the future prowess of the soldiers. The gunjfire, 
the charges, the final drama for which the land 
will be the theater, will relegate their silent labor 
to oblivion. But to overthrow Germany both will 
be needed, and the glorious army can hold out a 
grateful hand to the Navy. 

Already our fleets are closing the doors of the 
world upon our enemies, and keeping them wide 
open for the resources that will feed our victory. 
As yet it is nothing; but hour by hour we forge 
a new lock. When Germany and her allies, foam- 
ing with rage in the prison to which our ships 
are the bars, suffer the tortures of famine ; when 
the one hundred and ten millions of Germans, 
howling at death ^s door, demand pity, and beg a 
bit of bread, when this menagerie tears itself to 
pieces in the struggle for food; when revolt, in- 
surrection, and the frenzy of civil war shake to 
its foundations this manufactory of murder ; then, 
Russia, England and France will let loose their 
bulldogs and their tamers. From their bridges 
the marines will hear the footsteps of the soldiers' 
charge and the barkings of their 75 's. Their 
hearts will leap with joy, and, gazing at the sea, 
the companion of evil days and luminous sunrises, 
they will say to her: *'It is we two together who 
have made it possible for all this to happen." 



202 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

Why does my vision wander to those happy 
days, our recompense? Is it because of the con- 
trasting melancholy of winter? Or else, have I 
not been conducted thither by a natural path, 
through the letters of comrades, the illustrious 
marine fusiliers in Belgium? Since their wounds 
have got better through hospital treatment and 
convalescence, they have commenced writing 
again. Nearly all my friends over there are dead. 
Those who remain describe in simple language the 
trip to Antwerp, the return in the horror of the 
conflict, the resistance so savage that our enemies 
will never acknowledge that it was this handful 
of brave men who blocked their rush. History 
will reward these officers, these sailor-soldiers 
whom we knew on the deck of the men-of-war. 
Where they have been, we should all like to have 
fought. The entire ** naval army" is jealous of 
this naval brigade. Exiled from the sea, they 
were acquainted with the cyclones of the struggle. 
Separated from the hurricanes at sea, they did 
not lower their heads before the mysterious 
thunderstorms of the Yser and Flanders. They 
paid the price of their courage in a terrific heca- 
tomb ; the barrier where the German invasion was 
stopped is built on blue collars and red pompons. 

We shall never see again those naive faces 
which laughed at the tempest. Their death was 
not such as they would have chosen; they have 
had to pass to their eternal rest beside the bank 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 203 

of a canal or a marsh, with their hands tightened 
on their guns and a last smile fluttering on their 
eyelids. When their brains reeled with the dizzy 
agony, and their torn limbs were trembling, they 
could imagine themselves in the grip of the sea's 
great surges, and glimpses of its vastness floated 
through their last visions. Under the gray skies 
of the Belgian plains, their glazed eyes saw the 
skies of typhoons; the mud in which they sank 
took for the moment the odor of their native 
spray; in delirium their ears recognized in the 
noise of the shells the blows of the waves on the 
hull; in the whistling of the balls the sound of 
the wind as it makes the cordage vibrate as if 
under violin-bows. All this drowns out the usual 
memories that accompany one's last hours — the 
chiming of village bells, the murmurs of a sweet- 
heart or old grandmother. For there are two 
things in the world which a man never forgets — 
the fascination of the sea, and the tenderness of 
women. But when the soldier approaches the 
threshold of eternity, the phantoms of the latter 
disappear before the last appeal of the former. 

All these things I read in the narrative of the 
survivors. They remember the lightning storm 
which preceded this emptiness from which they 
have come back. Unaccustomed to the march, they 
could not think of the sea during those atrocious 
days when at each step their feet and their knees 
became heavier with a weight that fairly nailed 



204 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

them to the ground. But they went on just the 
same. They did not think of the sea when their 
breaking lines recoiled before the German flood. 
Neither could they think of it under the storms 
of shells. But at the minute when they wavered 
between life and that which has no name, they 
all received the final kiss of the sea. Its whispers 
cradled them, and they were grieved that they 
could not be buried in its watery grave. Thinking 
of their comrades, they bequeathed to them the 
hope of perishing in its enveloping arms, during 
some heroic combat. 

From their hospitals and homes the survivors 
send us their good wishes. Towards the East, 
towards the Dardanelles, the world is beginning 
to direct its attention, and the ships at last are 
going to experience a great conflict. Our sailors 
have received the heritage from the marine 
fusiliers. They envied, they are envied ; thus runs 
the world. If fate destines them to write history 
with their blood, and no longer merely with their 
patience, their desire claims the legacy from their 
brothers who have fallen over there. 

End of February. 
In one of our trips to carry supplies to Mon- 
tenegro, the Dague has just been lost. In the 
open roadstead, at midnight, she was waiting for 
the cargo-boat to finish unloading its bales and 
cases on the wharf. Her crew was assisting in 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 205 

this dangerous work. The heavy sound of the 
cases falling on the planks was all that could be 
heard. . . . But a submarine from Austria was 
lying in wait for the Dagiie. 

Suddenly the destroyer leaped into the air as 
if lifted by the hand of a giant. It fell in two 
pieces like a dead branch of wood. The sailors, 
enclosed in her sides, did not know they were at 
the point of death. Thirty seconds later, at the 
spot where there had been a living ship, and men 
full of energy, there was no longer anything but 
the dark water. 

1 March, 
Malta at last ! Landscapes which do not move, 
roads of hard stone, a desired presence. . . . 
Some drives in an English dog-cart behind a 
frisky pony. ... A dress of mauve muslin, the 
sweet Italian tongue interrupted by silences, the 
charming visits to the fountain of the swans. 

Malta, remote island and jewel of the Mediter- 
ranean, blessed repose of navigators, peaceful 
harbor and immense fortifications, feverish 
atmosphere and nostalgia of the blue sky. All 
the roads cross there. Betv/een the antipodes 
and the fields of battle the Hindu, the Canadians 
and the French pass several hours there; and 
later, in the night watches, each one will remember 
his happy rest in that place. 
Malta, the starting point for the warriors of 



206 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

Egypt, of the Dardanelles, of Mesopotamia, and 
Flanders; the port of call for the sailors of the 
Mediterranean, of the North Sea and the Persian 
Gulf. In the Strada Eeale clash faces, uniforms, 
dialects; they linger on the mystical pavements 
of the churches, and pass into the rocky country- 
side to dream those dreams one never forgets. 

Malta: First pilgrimage of the new crusade. 
The battleships and cruisers, the drag-nets and 
dredgers get their second wind here before sailing 
for the East, for Constantinople. They go there 
to take part in epic conflicts, and retake from the 
Osmanlis the city of the Bosphorus, which for five 
hundred years has awaited its deliverance. Regi- 
ments, batteries and squads accompany them, 
crowded on the transports and eager for victory. 
May the men who are preparing this great enter- 
prise, this terrible enterprise, measure well its 
obstacles, and be able to obviate them ! 

Malta, paradise of the vagabond weary of 
wandering, light fragrances, exquisite light, en- 
chanting sea, creator of tenderness. Oh, these 
evenings and mornings when the heart melts in 
one's breast! But one needs a companion. Woe 
to the lonely man! He will not appreciate the 
smiles of this Eden. He cannot enjoy its treasures. 
How many sailors' wives, who have come here to 
see for a moment the husbands torn from them 
seven months ago, will not remember this idyllic 
spot with tears in their eyes? But other loves 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 207 

are born on this island, which perhaps will die 
there. These amours I desire every man to have 
who fights on land or sea. Then a shell will hut 
bring liim happiness. 

Farewell, Malta! Yesterday under a fragrant 
arbor the evening light shone on a tragic face, 
and the coming separation made our speech falter. 
This morning, towards dawn, in a silent church, 
two clasped hands and a bowed head were pray- 
ing for the safety of the traveler. The Waldech 
left during the da}^ It took its way slowly among 
the motionless ships, which will soon sail in their 
turn. Outside of the harbor, already moving with 
the swell, it put on full speed and raced over the 
blue water. Along the ramparts some handker- 
chiefs and soft hands waved sad farewells. Every 
one of us, with his glass to his eyes, looked for 
the beloved face and dress, which were becoming 
fainter with every turn of the ship's screws. And 
then distance wiped everything out. Over there 
lovely eyes have been weeping; here our lids are 
still wet. The sailor's malady — what is it but 
separation ? 

Ionian Sea, 5 March. 
The Spring is venturing her first caresses. I 
know countrysides in France where the cherry 
trees are already blooming, where violets are 
fragrant, and lilacs are beginning to unfold. The 
April sun will soon set flowing the tide of life 



208 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

and bloom; the poppies will get their color from 
the blood spilled in Champagne and the Vosges. 

But upon our sterile sea no grass grows green, 
no tree blossoms. The water is bluer and the 
sky paler, the air brings softer breaths, but these 
beauties are mere phantoms. They glide past 
like the moments of our monotonous life, like the 
white clouds filled with light which move above us. 

A few living things distract our melancholy. 
Young porpoises, with silver bellies and slender 
snouts, play around the hull, lashing the water 
as if with thongs of whipcord, falling back with 
a gleaming graceful movement. The old porpoises, 
mere dignified, follow patiently their continual 
leapings, sewing the cloth of the sea with an 
invisible thread ; each one of their stitches on this 
blue material leaves a streak of foam. 

When these playful fish pass at a short distance 
from us, they are amusing. But what frights 
their more distant tracks through the water have 
given the officers of the watch ! On an empty and 
shining sea, the silver trail of a porpoise looks 
too much like the volute of a periscope. . . . And 
the periscopes are prowling about. . . . The fine 
days have arrived, and the sea is favorable for 
submarines to come down the Adriatic as far as 
the Ionian Sea. Many people may not think so, 
but the cruisers know that the enemy is hunting 
them to the death. We meet on the water vast 
flat mirror-like tracks like the trail of a snail 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 209 

on the ground. A submarine lias just passed. 
From one end of the horizon to the other the 
viscous line is sparkling, but the horizon is empty. 

9 March, 
Several times at twilight one of the cruisers 
has seen rising, far away, the kiosk and shell of 
a submarine, coming to the surface for the night. 
The cruiser has rushed upon the enemy. But in 
the splendid evening this fish of steel has filled 
its reservoirs again and quietly submerged. The 
red of the sky gives place to purple, and the purple 
to violet, and the violet to black, to darkness. The 
cruiser in pursuit has informed the ** naval army'' 
of the encounter. We know she is not mistaken, 
but the other ships, patrolling in the south, treat 
us as visionaries. 

Visionaries indeed! If only we were! We 
should not then experience, during our watch, 
these sudden heart failures, and the nights of the 
watch would not be riddled with these useless 
agonies. Each day the crews become more ap- 
prehensive of some fatal surprise, and no one is 
indifferent on board except the animals who dwell 
with us. Happy beasts ! Nature has freed them 
from forebodings. 

Our cats, lazy and coquettish, choose a couch on 
the warm deck in the sun, and roll themselves up 
in a ball, with their nose resting on their furry 
paws, their green eyes half closed; or else they 



210 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

etretcli out on their sides, stiffening and unbend- 
ing their paws, and letting th©^ breeze play on 
their bodies. They forget to sleep. Under the 
moon or in the darkness they go sidewise, slowly 
brushing the cordage and the rasping metal. 
Sometimes they mew with a call that is soft, 
raucous, and hopeless, for ships of war are chaste, 
and our poor tomcats spend their nights without 
any spring amours. 

Towards four o'clock in the morning Venus 
rises fresh and dazzling. Soon the feathery tribe 
begins to stir. Between the chimneys a cock pro- 
claims his fanfare, the hens cackle, and great dis- 
putes, accompanied by much rustling of wings, 
take place over a cabbage leaf or some water or 
a grain of corn. Our pigeons coo softly, as they 
puif their necks; their glossy wings powdered 
with salt dew. Breaking in on these light sounds 
comes the lament of the oxen which are to be 
slaughtered. They low discreetly. At this din, 
which reminds one of one's native land and one's 
country home, the officer of the watch on the 
bridge thinks he smells the odor of the poultry- 
yard, the healthy odor of dung, and listens to the 
creaking of the carts as they leave the farm. It 
is the illusion of homesickness. The only voices 
of labor are the humming of the ventilators, the 
pulsation of the engines, and the vibration of the 
waves which slap the hull. Our only ties with the 
world are the cruisers, with their stacks and their 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 211 

remote smoke, wMcli go from sector to sector on 
the same careful vagabondage. And we have no 
other reason for living than to await the prowling 
submarines. The submarines, the curse of this 
war! 

11 March. 

There is one formidable problem which I have 
not yet solved. 

From the bridge the officer sees a companion 
vessel explode, sink and disappear. The catas- 
trophe may be slow or swift, it matters not. Many 
men have just been killed by the explosion; but 
there remain living survivors in the water, who 
are condemned to death if their neighbors do not 
come up to rescue them. The officer's pitiful heart 
directs him to rush towards the disaster and pick 
up these brothers of ours. 

But no ! The submarine is perhaps waiting and 
is aiming a new torpedo. It is lying in wait for 
the rescuer with her formidable strength, her 
thousand able men, and is counting on her rash- 
ness to send her to join the victim it has just 
sunk. The duty of the officer tells him to save 
a sound ship for France, so that to-morrow she 
may avenge the dead in some victorious action. 

The English Admiralty has solved the dilemma. 
**Woe to the wounded!" it has said. *^I order 
the living to flee ! ' ' 

The men who drew up this formidable law in 



212 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

the privacy of their offices were thinking only of 
the glory of their navy, of the fate of their coun- 
try. Would these same men, as officers of the 
watch, hearing the appeal of drowning men, have 
the terrible courage to fi^ef 

During the long hours of the watch I have 
pondered over this riddle. To-morrow, this even- 
ing, in an instant, the drama of which I am think- 
ing may rise on the horizon. If fate Avills that 
I be struck, I know that as my mouth fills with 
water, my last cry, to those who approach me 
will be this: 

** Begone, for the submarine is watching for 
you too!'' 

But if in the treacherous night or under the 
kindly sun, I see one of the companion ships of 
the Waldeck-Rousseau destroyed, I hope some 
inspiration will dictate my conduct. I cannot 
foresee what it will be. There are tragedies where 
the reason stumbles, and man is outdone by the 
malignity of things, where only revelation and 
divine grace permit him to find his way. 

This is the way weariness bewitches one. If 
we were in action, I should never feel these 
dilemmas. I should not like to repeat here what 
all my comrades ever^^ minute and every hour are 
saying around me. Never have the cruisers been 
plunged into a prof ounder ennui. The great naval 
routes pass north or south of our present beats, 
the battleships are at the Peloponnesus, in Crete, 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 213 

and we can no longer see the coasts of Italy, our 
companions in recent months. We should never 
suspect that land existed if wireless messages did 
not bring us a suggestion of it. 

Whence come these birds which for many days 
now have followed our cruiser as it emerged from 
the winter! What woods, what nests, have they 
left? By day they fly from mast to mast, cat- 
head to bridge, and by night they hide in dark 
corners. . . . We are wandering on the treeless 
waste, two or three hundred kilometers from any 
shore, and yet these birds with their fragile wings 
choose our island of steel to rest upon before 
continuing their journey. They are very young 
birds, and carry themselves badly upon their inex- 
perienced wings. 

14 March. 

A swallow, a chaffinch, a robin and a bullfinch, 
are what I have seen this morning, about sunrise. 

In the wide expanse there was the growing 
light, a pale moon leaning towards the west, some 
idle curls of smoke, and my vague thoughts. And 
then, from nowhere, came this chaffinch, and 
stopped on the bridge at my feet, looked at me 
impertinently, seemed reassured by its examina- 
tion, and without further concerning itself with 
me, began hopping on the floor. Then the swallow 
arrived, restless and swift, but so awkward that, 
as it rested on the steel bars, it swayed and caught 
itself as if it thought it was falling. 



214 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

It remains faithful to us. The sailors with their 
affectionate and clumsy hands, have already tied 
on its dark body a yellow favor which it wears 
coquettishly. It is our passenger. The others, 
more lively, only pause between two flights ; they 
peck on our deck, and by chance discover some- 
thing to store in their tiny paunches ; perched on 
a rod, a partition, or the rigging, they rest awhile, 
with their heads hunched in their feathers and 
their wings up to their eyes like blinkers. We 
call them ; they do not answer, for they are asleep. 
And then all of a sudden the chaffinches and robins 
fly away, as if they really knew where they were 
going. They trust themselves without fear to the 
great mysterious emptiness, and to-morrow other 
finches and other robins will come, and will also 
fly away. We love them when they are there. We 
forget them when they fly away. We shall not 
weep for their death. They are like us, mariners 
of the air. 

15 March. 
They are happier than we, for they are not 
preoccupied with their fate, all the winds that 
pass are favorable to their wings. Carelessness 
is their daily bread. They never ask the reasons 
for their pilgrimages, and do not guess that their 
lives might be more useful. We envy their spirit 
and their empty heads. How many times have 
we not wished to kill our reason and become like 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 215 

machines, which work without thinking! The 
sailors cannot know this infinite weariness of 
anxious thought, and they would never say the 
bitter things that rise in our minds from the strain 
of overwork. Are there any combatants in this 
war Avho have need of so much patience for so 
painful a task? For weeks and months, ever since 
the origin of time, it seems, the sailors have been 
here performing the same duties, seeing the same 
faces, hearing the same voices. They know be- 
forehand what their neighbor is going to say. 
Whether we are paradoxical or bitter, braggart 
or fatalistic, each of us has long ago finished 
emptying out his intellectual baggage. There is 
no chance of evasion or of renewal. One sees the 
very inside of hearts. Some solid friendships, 
cemented by common miseries, cheer this existence. 
But aversions and enmities are strengthened. In 
many ward rooms now the meals have become 
gloomy or charged mth ill-feeling. One has to 
keep silent for fear of setting off the evil spark. 
Everything provides material for discord, and 
nothing inspires amiable thoughts. One does not 
wish to make venomous relations that are already 
strained, and so one says nothing. 

Spasmodically, at the reading of an important 
communique or wireless messages, discussions 
burst forth and wax intense. For the thousandth 
time we sift over what has been said, and as all 
the arguments were laid on the table eight months 



216 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

ago, no one can win in the encounter unless lie 
can shout louder than the others. The president 
of the mess, cool and benevolent, throws himself 
into the fray, and his advice makes us see the 
inanity of such disputes. The officers understand 
that he is right. Better to keep out of it. 

Silence falls again. While awaiting his watch, 
the officer returns to his cabin and tries to forget 
his troubles. Shall he write to his dear ones! 
What for, and what shall he say to them I Every 
one devotes himself to some mechanical task. This 
one is learning Spanish, Greek, Japanese; others 
are measuring their strength on the Ethics of 
Spinoza, or the theory of the equations of partial 
derivatives; some are doing carving, collecting 
stamps or raising turtles. The essential thing is 
to get a man^s mind away from the ship, from 
the water, from himself. 

The night, solitary, kindly, ends with the dawn. 
Sleep e:ffaces everything, and our duty transforms 
us into automatons. On the bridge the officer no 
longer thinks of anything but his superior duties. 
Near him stand watching the accustomed statues 
of gunners and steersmen; under him gently 
vibrates the moving vessel ; and all around stretch 
the silent shadows. Above his head wings like 
felt open and close, and form rings of sound. They 
are the horned owls, migratory birds too, which 
have substituted our masts for their native nests. 
Frightened, they wheel above the watchers, and 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 217 

tlieir hairy wings sometimes brush our caps. In 
the blackness of the sky, they fly uncertainly 
about, hiding the stars and then disclosing them 
again. Their flight and their silence are congenial 
to our thoughts. For them the sun does not exist, 
any more than happiness exists for us. Perhaps 
they would like the light, but their blinking eyes 
cannot endure it. They are like our own hearts. 
For months past we have lost all the joys of life, 
and dare no longer look them in the face. 

17 March. 

After four hours of anxious thought and watch- 
ing, the officer leaves his successor in charge and 
goes down to his cabin or the ward-room. He 
is too wide awake to fall quickly asleep, too tired 
to think. The cruiser is like a castle of the Sleep- 
ing Beauty. In the labyrinth of ladders, doors 
and passages, black holes alternate with the 
shadows from dim lamps. On each side of the 
corridors are the rows of closed doors leading to 
the cabins where the officers and the boatswains 
toss between insomnia and bad dreams. A smoky 
light reveals the suspended hammocks. After 
their hard work the sailors fling themselves down 
there and sleep just as they fall; their dangling 
hands and knees are covered with coaldust; many 
of the faces seem masked in black. 

At the staircase to the engine-room, the fireman 
and swabbers (souticrs) tumble out pell-mell on 



218 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

the metal floor, too exhausted to lift themselves 
into their hammocks. One has to be careful not 
to step on someone's chest or ear. The ship 
could go «doAvn, and these men would not wake 
from their stupor. Some of the more fastidious 
ones have taken the trouble to procure a pillow; 
it is a lump of coal, very hard and dusty; their 
cheeks press it as softly as if it were of down. 

With outstretched hands and hesitating feet, 
the officer makes his round, runs into something, 
and stops. He passes the watchers, the gunners, 
the sentries. Wrapped in his cloak, and leaning 
against the breech, a pointer is observing the 
flight of the gray water through a port hole. His 
eyes are wide open, but what can be the reveries 
of this man who every day and night for so many 
months has watched the gliding of the water ! 

*^Well, Kersullec, it's tiresome! You are al- 
most through!" whispers the officer. 

*^Yes, Captain. It isn't that I'm not sleepy, but 
I'll hold out the rest of my fifty minutes." 

And further on: 

** You've got your eyes open, eh, Le Bihan? 
You know that yesterday evening they signaled 
a submarine. . . . Quite near. ..." 

**Let it come, Captain. It will see if Le Bihan 
sleeps on his watch!" 

Eeaching the ward-room, the officer takes off 
his cloak, his muffler, his gloves, and puts down 
his glasses. He nibbles a crust of bread or re- 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 219 

freshes himself with a drop of wine. The room is in 
disorder from the preceding evening, with news- 
papers left on the red sofas, games on the green 
tables. One turns the pages mechanically with- 
out reading, and shuffles the dominoes and cards 
without thinking, and before going back to his 
dull bed, one casts a glance at the betting-book. 

22 March, 
A happy find, this betting-book, which has 
banished acrimonious disputes from the Waldeck- 
Rousseau! For since in this war our prophecies 
about to-morrow or next week have nothing to 
base themselves upon, what good does it do to 
argue? If one of us, through some revelation, 
acquires a definite opinion on future events, he 
writes it in this note-book with the date, the hour 
and the place. The page is divided into two 
columns, one for, and the other against the pre- 
diction ; the man who bets proposes the stake. The 
other signs in the right column or the left, and 
when the bet falls due, the bad prophets pay up 
as gracefully as possible. There is no opportunity 
for contradicting, and it is much more amusing 
than all the discussions. 

30 March, 
This morning, towards four o'clock, I signed 
my name in the column of the most recent bets. 
Here are the three wagers which interested me: 



220 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

Friday, March 26. 8.50 a.m. at 38^ 11' N. and 
16° IV E. 

M. X. . . . bets that within three months Italy 
will be at war, but not Roumania. Stakes a dinner 
in Paris in 1917, for which the winner shall choose 
the restaurant and make up the menu. 

The page of this wager is scribbled over with 
emendations and remarks. The number of signa- 
tures in the two columns is equal. The winners 
will be awkward in their triumph. 

Sunday, March 28. Midnight : at 38° 02' N. and 

18° 7' E. M. J bets with M. Z that the 

Viviani ministry will not last out the year 1915. 
Stakes ; the two bettors being unmarried, the loser 
agrees to act as groomsman at the marriage of 
the winner, who agrees to choose him a pretty 
maid of honor. 

The page is sprinkled with facetious comments. 
To tell the truth, I do not know which are wittier, 
those which mention the wager, or those which 
discuss the stakes. Between the fiancee and the 
Premier, the maid or honor, the winner and the 
loser, it is all humor of the cleverest kind. 

Tuesday, March 30. 2.30 a.m. at 38° 10' N. and 
16° 23' E. M. W. . . . wagers that inside of a 
month one of the seven Ionian cruisers will be 
sunk by a submarine and lost without anything ^s 
being saved. 

For this wager I see neither any stake nor op- 
posing signature. 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 221 

4 ApriL 

For seven weeks I have not been off the cruiser, 
but this morning I was given a new duty ; namely, 
to land during our coaling; my turn has come to 
provide the food for my twenty-five comrades of 
the mess. 

At no time is this a pleasant business; during 
our war campaign it requires an angelic patience, 
for supplies are difficult to get and the quality 
uncertain. Each one of us watches without en- 
thusiasm the day approach when he becomes the 
scapegoat for the dyspeptics and those with ailing 
livers. But the implacable schedule, drawn up by 
lot before our departure from Toulon, appoints 
a new *' chief of the mess'' every two months. 

You housekeepers who complain of the price 
of provisions and the bad quality of the eggs had 
better take passage on the ships which move in 
the Ionian Sea, and you will learn about unknown 
miseries. It is no mere question in our latitudes, 
of varying the menus, of serving such a fish or 
such a meat, nor even of calculating almost to 
a half pound what will feed the household without 
waste. The task is more difficult. 

For fifteen or twenty days the cruiser has kept 
to sea without quitting it ; she has done her coal- 
ing outside and has not revictualed anywhere. 
Fresh provisions are a mere memory; eggs, pre- 
served in straw or lime, acquire with each meal 
a richer and more vigorous flavor. The wine, 



222 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA" 

shaken about in warm casks, ferments. The fresh 
water absorbs the rust of the iron-casks, and 
tastes like the mephitic beverage of some invalid 
resort. Our bread is heavy and indigestible, for 
the bakers are seasick and the flour is mouldy. 
For dessert we nibble some empty or frost-bitten 
walnuts, dried raisins, excessively dried, and al- 
monds which either cannot be cracked or are filled 
with powder. 

Despite our work and weariness, we push aside 
these pitiful refreshments sweetened with coaldust. 
Our teeth crack lumps which have no taste of 
vanilla ; these are cinders which have got into our 
sauces. Morning and evening we have to face 
one or two dishes of beef. And such beef ! Bat- 
tered by the wind and spray, tossed by the rolling 
of the ship which bruises their tender nostrils, 
the poor animals of the shambles trample list- 
lessly the steel deck and sniff their fermented hay 
listlessly. After a few days at sea they have lost 
their fat. They have to be killed in time, for fear 
they will die during the night. For this maritime 
agony they avenge themselves upon our teeth; 
their flesh is like a ball of discolored twine, with 
the pleasant elasticity of rubber. I will not 
describe the chickens which survive a few weeks 
of the cruise. I should need the vocabulary of 
a cordwainer. 

And then, in their distant campaignings, the 
sailors habitually provide themselves with some 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 223 

digestive or rheumatic complaint, which is quiet 
enough in hours of prosperity, and revives exactly 
at the moment when one wants to keep well. Seven 
entire months at sea under this regime have re- 
surrected all these ailments. The martyrs require 
a light bat nourishing diet of good food. Where 
can we get it? The chief of the mess cannot 
transform into fresh eggs these shells in which 
are stirring chicks anxious to hatch out, nor into 
fresh milk the viscous compound which comes 
in metal cans. Musty cakes, greenish purees, 
coagulated rice, become more and more common 
on our plates. Complexions become yellow, fea- 
tures drawn, and good-humor vanishes. Discus- 
sions on the war or the service turn bitter. Those 
who are endowed with unbroken health take the 
diatribes philosophically: *^Take it easy, my poor 
friend,'' they think. **Take it easy. I would 
reply to you, if it wasn't only your enteritis that 
is speaking!" 

One night a mreless arrives from the Com- 
mander-in-Chief. 

**You will coal Wednesday at Dragamesti, with 
the cargo-boat Marguerite/' It is only Sunday, 
but a smile appears on a thousand faces. The 
whole cruiser takes on the alert pace of a horse 
which sniffs the relay. A sorry relay however! 
From morning to evening, in a harbor where the 
wind blows violently, the ship will be shrouded in 
coaldust ; the sailors will wear themselves out, the 



224 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

officers shout themselves hoarse trying to hurry 
the filling of the sacks, and we shall leave more 
exhausted than at da^\'n, for fifteen or tweaty days 
of pilgrimage. But we shall have made a halt. 
Sailors in any part of the world, you will all under- 
stand me ! 

The chief of the mess is happy, but becomes 
anxious. Between two watches he has a confer- 
ence with the cook and steward. Both are 
neurasthenic ; it is as disagreeable to them to pre- 
pare our little meals as it is to us to swallow them. 
But hope, invincible in the heart of man, cheers 
the trio: 

^^ Captain,'' says the steward, *^buy some figs, 
some salad and some fresh cheese. That will im- 
prove the menu for a week.'' 

** Certainly, " replies the captain chief of the 
mess. *'But shall we find any?" 

*^I want some lambs," demands the cook, *'some 
fish for two or three days, and if I can lay my 
hand on a good fat sheep, I can guarantee that 
you gentlemen will be satisfied." 

*^A11 right. But I'm afraid we shall not find 
very much." 

^'And then, I must have at least four hundred 
dozen eggs. The last time we only took two 
hundred; a good half of them were rotten, and 
we use six to seven dozen a day. So, in twenty 
days. . . ." 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 225 

* * Oh ! But, great heavens, my friend ! Where 
am I to get the money T' 

For it is a fact: in war times, and in almost 
impossible regions, the sailors have for their pay 
and food not a cent more than in times of peace. 
Upon this detail the chief of the mess has his own 
opinion, but keeps it to himself. Pencil and 
memorandum in hand, he wavers between fear 
of overspending his credit, and of incurring the 
anathema of his comrades. He opens his till and 
counts the notes and change, closes the lock with 
a sharp click and murmurs : 

*^I shall never get away with it. . . ." 

Monday and Tuesday pass. The general satis- 
faction increases. The furrows deepen on the 
brow of the chief of the mess. To-morrow is 
Wednesday, the fatal day. But at dusk another 
wireless message arrives: 

** Collier Marguerite delayed by bad weather. 
You will coal Thursday with the Circe," 

At this delay which desolates all the others, the 
chief of the mess calms down and has a better 
sleep. He has just gained twenty-four hours. But 
his calm is shaken at table by the remarks which 
unanimously agree that the food is uneatable — 
they are right — and that the chief of the mess 
ought to be hung. Poor chief of the mess ! 

A third wireless follows : 

**Eemain in the third sector until next Satur- 



226 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

day. Yon will coal Sunday at Santa Maura witH 
the Bayonnais." 

Horror and desolation ! The language of sailors 
is not unresourceful, but in desperate cases it 
becomes magnificent. This is one of them. Eabe- 
lais himself, the prince of truculence, \vould open 
his ears wide to hear the sailors — ordinarily 
civilized — comment on this third message. I dare 
not reproduce these explosions, but will keep to 
my hero, the chief of the mess. 

The bitterest pleasantries have an end. To- 
wards sunrise the ship finds its way to the ap- 
pointed rendezvous and anchors there. I will not 
say it is at Santa Maura, or on Sunday, or with 
the Bayonnais. It may be with the Biarritz, at 
Antipaxo, on the following Wednesday. We are 
within neither a week or a hundred kilometers of 
the original order, but the cruiser lies still, with 
the collier alongside, and the crew have already 
plunged into a cyclone of black dust. With his 
pocket full, but with an anxious heart, the chief 
of the mess, accompanied by his two acolytes, 
reaches the shore in a steam cutter. There is 
nothing but ten houses and a small church. The 
horizon consists of solid rock, without a sign of 
cultivation. At each step the hope of provender 
diminishes. We touch the quay, if there is a quay ; 
when there is nothing better we fun up on the 
beach, and the trio makes for the cluster of houses. 
Some Greeks with intelligent smiles and unih- 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 227 

telligible language are always to be found to con- 
duct you to persons wlio will sell you eggs, poul- 
try, groceries or animals. They take your hand 
and pull you by the sleeve. They show certificates 
from another cruiser which has left the evening 
before, and which, like the brigand she is, has 
surely taken everything! After many muddy 
puddles, many ruts, the three victims arrive in 
front of the herd, the poultry-yard, or the baskets 
of fruit. 

I suspect the people of this region of having 
founded along their coasts sanatoriums of 
lymphatic sheep and tuberculous cattle. I suspect 
them of cultivating boxwood and fusain, cutting 
the twigs off with scissors, and calling them salad. 
I suspect them finally when they sell eggs at eight 
sous apiece, of wishing to give you your money 'j 
worth, and of setting odor above cheapness. 

**If you want to see better animals, there is 
another herd ten kilometers away, behind the 
marshes." 

*^In that island opposite, I know a man who 
grows vegetables; go to him. It will only take 
you three hours there and back." 

^*Yes, you could find fresher eggs at my neigh- 
bor's, but he just left for the mountains last 
night. ' ' 

The chief of the mess devotes forty minutes to 
understanding these wily proposals. He has only 
a few hours in this remote region, and before 



228 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

night he has to provide for the food of twenty- 
five men for twenty days. Followed by the 
steward and the cook, he perspiringly visits the 
miserable shops and doubtful poultry-yards. 

^*We have no more figs or raisins. The Ger- 
mans bought them all tliree months ago. ' ' 

** Yesterday one of your ships took the finest 
head of cattle. If you had only come the day 
before yesterday!^' 

Hours pass, but they do not in the least improve 
the quality of what we are offered. The agents 
become more and more cunning as they press you 
to buy, for they know that the cruiser sails at 
dusk, and their kind souls fear she will leave with- 
out provisions. In a creaking carriage or on a 
broken horse, the chief of the mess goes to see 
this herd, or that famoue poulterer, and returns 
with a desire to slaughter his guide. Evening 
comes. The cruiser whistles, raises the flag of 
recall, and is to put to sea in half an hour. We 
must buy now, whatever the cost. Then pell-mell, 
in sacks or boxes, under the goad of the shepherds, 
on the shoulders of the boys, the eggs and suspect 
vegetables, the consumptive animals and the 
parchment poultry begin to move towards the 
cutter. The Chief's spirit is haunted by dark 
presentiments, but he offers fresh blue notes and 
new gold pieces in exchange for these precarious 
victuals. The sons of Mercury wrangle over the 
change and the price, the porters demand their 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 229 

tip, and the market becomes an uproar of in- 
vective. But all that is nothing to what is in store 
on board. 

At last everything is in order. The cutter 
leaves the quay, followed by pleasantries, and 
arrives at the ship, which weighs anchor and be- 
gins in the night its twenty days of cruising. In 
answer to the questions of his comrades the chief 
of the mess tries to put on a good face, but the 
evening meal gives him a hint of the refined tor- 
ture he will endure until the next landing, and 
he invokes the god of resignation to his aid. 

This afternoon, since I had used up my store of 
gold and silver, I gave a hundred franc note to 
some breeder of elastic chickens. I owed him 
fourteen francs. Instead of giving me back eighty- 
six francs, he made the entire change for the note 
in pieces of five, two and one drachmas. In the 
midst of a crowd of boys and attentive men he 
counted it, recounted it, and put it in my hand. 

From these hundred francs which he gave me 
I took out two five-drachma pieces and two two- 
drachma pieces, making up the total amount. But 
he returned me the two five-drachma pieces, and 
I cannot describe the air with which he said to me : 
**Your two coins are bad. Give me two others." 

If I had been a German, I should have knocked 
him on the head. But I contented myself with 
throwing the two coins into a pile of mud that 



230 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

happened to be there, and jumped into my cutter 
without saying a word. As we returned, I ex- 
amined the other coins. They were sound. And 
I could not help laughing, for if I had chosen two 
good coins to pay him with, this good breeder 
would have robbed me of ten francs. 

I have traveled much, I have seen many swin- 
dlers ; but this one takes the first prize. 

Strait of Otranto, 
25 April to 1 May, 1915. 

The cruisers on the Ionian Sea have received 
orders to go up as far as the Strait of Otranto. 
Perhaps the Commander-in-Chief, who is sta- 
tioned towards the south of Greece, has learned 
that the Austrians are preparing certain naval 
operations and so sends us to watch the enemy at 
closer range ; perhaps this movem.ent corresponds 
to some play on the chess-board of war. Little 
do we care. We leave these desert regions, and 
go to find the friends of our early days: Santa 
Maria de Leuca, Fano, Corfu. 

Again we encounter their charms and their 
graces. Autumn had decked them in soft colors ; 
April envelops them in a virginal light. At the 
end of Italy the lighthouse of Leuca rises like a 
marble finger always white; and the islands and 
the mountains of Epirus are pink in the morning, 
blue through the day, and mauve at dusk. The 
air is so marvelously pure that the night itself 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 231 

does not rob things of tlieir color. Violets and 
yellows remain, even under the moon. 

We have plenty of time to admire these 
beauties, already so familiar. The cruisers move 
very slowly, for they must not use too much coal. 
Several times we have been surprised to find one 
of them wanting to hurry the schedule of coalings 
and do its provisioning two or three days earlier. 
So in order not to incur the reproach of stopping 
oftener than is necessary, the cruisers have taken 
a leisurely pace, and the consumption of fuel has 
become satisfactory. Especially at night, in the 
religious calm over which the hills of Corfu and 
the lighthouse of Leuca watch as sentinels, it 
seems that we are quite motionless. 

The family of cruisers, which w^as formerly dis- 
persed over the Ionian Sea, now meet each other 
continually, and play at puss in the corner. In 
the course of a day one sees three or four gently 
rise on the horizon, make a curve as they double 
the edge of their sector, and nonchalantly depart 
again. When they have something to say, two 
comrades approach each other : the Ferry talks to 
the Gamhetta by wigwagging, the Waldech to the 
Renan with flags and pennants ; through the glass 
one recognizes friends ; salutations are exchanged 
by waving caps or hands. When the conversa- 
tions are finished, each one turns her back and 
goes to patrol her watery field. Every morning, 
from eight to nine o'clock, the ships signal in- 



232 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

formation about the amount of coal remaining, 
their dailj^ consumption, the number of sick on 
board, and the number of the sector they are 
patrolling. If one of them has done or sighted 
something interesting, she mentions it. We have 
a little daily chat; thanks to which we feel less 
lonely — within reach of a voice, so to speak. Dur- 
ing their watch the officers consult the memoranda 
of the wirelss messages, and read hastily the news 
from their neighbors, just as one listens, without 
paying attention, to the friend one meets in the 
street who gives one the bulletin of his family's 
good health. 

We have, moreover, plunged back into the great 
road of international traffic. Again the throng of 
steamers, freighters or sailing vessels, passes 
along the Italian and Greek coasts. We mxay not 
go too near them, for fear of penetrating the ter- 
ritorial waters, and of thus finding Italy or Greece, 
with whom the Entente is carrying on negotia- 
tions, touchy about their sea frontiers. If one of 
the cruisers visits some ship too near the limit, 
she is accused of having overstepped the line, and 
the affair, exaggerated, becomes disquieting. 
Better to evade the controversial line, and only 
accost, wdth a clear conscience, the ships that risk 
themselves on the high sea. 

In order that the crews may not lose their skill 
in firing the guns, which sleep in a profound 
slumber during this disconcerting war, from time 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 233 

to time we practise firing at floating targets. Not 
shooting with a regular charge, for our guns make 
so much noise that an hour later all the telegraphs 
of the world would announce *^the great naval 
battle in the Strait of Otranto/' but what is called 
in the navy reduced firing. With small charges 
and small shells we fire upon little canvas targets 
which float on the water like children's toys 
driven by the breeze. This makes proportionately 
no more noise than a pea-shooter firing peas, but 
the entire organism of the ship — engines, system 
of direction and of firing, telemetry and rules 
of firing — functions as it would in battle. When 
we pick up the target the crew examines the 
canvas and the framework, counts the holes and 
the scratches, criticizes this parody of battle. A 
pitiful solace for our desire for action! One 
thought consoles us: the Austrians at Pola, the 
Germans at Kiel, the English in the bases where 
they wait, are tiring themselves with the same 
vanities as ourselves, with reduced firing and the 
pretences of battle. Yes, this naval war is indeed 
disconcerting. 

These were my thoughts during the watch the 
other night, when everything about me was so 
fair. A full moon with soft features, but with 
a contour as sharp as that of a new medal, rode 
in a sky as pure as the face of a child. The stars 
were swollen with joy. Vague lightning il- 
luminated first one part of the sky and then an- 



234 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

other, like vagrant smiles of the night, without 
arriere-pensee. The sea, drowsy with warmth, 
had a calm and fragrant breath, and it seemed 
as if our prow in cutting it was profaning a divine 
slumher. Tt was one of those moments when the 
most unhappy man feels love flood his heart, and 
as my eyes fell only on eternal things, my spirit 
absorbed all their blessing. The cruiser was 
patrolling the middle of the Strait of Otranto ; on 
its left a comrade kept guard towards Fano and 
Corfu; on its right the Gambetta in the Italian 
sector received from time to time the flashes from 
the lighthouse. During the afternoon we had 
come quite near the Gambetta; our boats had ex- 
changed the parcels, the mail, and orders, and it 
is now the WaldecJc-Rousseau who will occupy the 
Italian sector after we separate. At the last mo- 
ment some new order has given our place to the 
Gambetta and kept us in the central rectangle. 
It is of no particular importance, and our turn 
to be neighbors with the lighthouse will come 
to-morrow. 

I shall not try to describe the train of thought 
which haunts the officer of the watch when nature 
becomes kindly again and accords him a respite 
for his body. As he surveys the sea with unre- 
lenting e^^es, he makes the tour of the weather, 
of the Avorld, of his ideas. The fluttering but- 
terfly is less capricious than this reverie of his, 
but he rests at last on some flower of thought. I 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 235 

remember that on this night, towards the third 
hour of my watch, I was thinking of the contrast 
between the peace of Nature and the human agony 
of the war. I had taken oif my cap to feel the 
caressing fingers of the night ; I had even opened 
my vest, and felt almost on my skin the freshness 
of the reviving breeze. On the sea, so light that 
it seemed transparent, I saw nothing in particular; 
but that was undoubtedly the weakness of my 
vision, the fatigue from too long cruises, the lassi- 
tude which on this night all my comrades of the 
watch on the cruisers felt with me. Otherwise 
my mind was clear. 

The work of France and Eussia, the enterprise 
of the Dardanelles and Gallipoli, all that had not 
been done, all that could be done, and ought to be 
done, everything defined itself in precise images. 
Around the cruiser was so much silence and so 
much silent light that my thoughts seemed to 
speak aloud to me. When my successor came to 
replace me on the watch, I quickly told him all 
the routine things, and then remained several 
minutes before going down to my cabin, in order 
to enjoy the marvelous night for a little while 
longer. There was not a single sound or light, 
and I left the bridge regretfully. I thought of 
the officers of the nearby cruisers, towards the 
right and the left of us, several miles away, feel- 
ing the same sensations, and I was consoled. 

The arriving day brought dazzling beauty after 



236 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

the quiet charm of the night, but ever3rthing 
around the cruiser remained the same — calm, 
silence, warm air. After a heavy sleep, a listless 
morning and a short meal, I resumed at noon the 
interrupted watch. The same thoughts continued 
to accompany my duties. Between them there 
was only the difference of moonlight and sunlight. 
My reasonings were clearer, my rancor stronger, 
but the sparkling of the waves revealed nothing. 
As we had nothing to communicate to the cruisers 
on our right and left, we remained quietly in the 
center of our sector, and my only companions of 
the watch were the sun, the migrating birds and 
some dolphins in the water. 

Towards two o 'clock I received the sudden news 
of the death of a sailor on board. The news tore 
me from my peaceful mood. I know that in this 
far place the death of one man does not count, 
especially when one is acquainted with that man 
only by a number. Yet I could not refrain from 
a certain melancholy, and the train of my reveries 
became somber. You poor little sailor, who has 
given up his life in this iron prison, where will 
be your gravel The perfumed rocks of Greece, 
or the sands of Apulia, or a shroud in the Ionian 
deeps? '\\nierever it be, no hand will ever strew 
flowers on your white wooden cross, and those 
who write you to-day perhaps will not know to 
what part of the vast world they should direct 
their tears. 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 237 

To the end of my watch I keep thinking of this 
destiny of the sailors, who do not even halt to die. 
Around me the faces of the lookouts and gunners 
show the same aspect of gravity which mine 
should have. This morning, it seems to me, 
touches us more than it should. Is there not going 
on somewhere a drama much more terrible? 

In order to banish such reflections, I go to look 
in my cabin for my little dog Jimmino, with his 
cold nose, his soft eyes and silky hair. Since my 
last stay in Malta, he has exchanged the ease of 
his mistress' home for the hard existence of a 
ship. At night he sleeps in the hollow of my 
shoulder, and when he wakes, he watches my 
slumber without stirring. When I work, he whines 
softly until I lift him up on my desk. He puts 
his head between his paws, and follows the course 
of my pen. He does not like me to remain too 
long without speaking to him, for I think he is 
of a jealous temperament. In order to let me 
know he is there, Jimmino rises and walks across 
my pages where his paws trail thick threads of 
ink. Then I give him a little tap on his cold nose 
and scold him: 

'^Get away, you horrible, badly brought up 
little thing! What would your mother say if 
she. . . ." 

*'WeU, well,'' replies the little tail as it wags. 
*'You have spoken, silent master, and you have 



238 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

struck me ; so you must love me. I am not vexed 
with you any more.'' 

Jimmino lies down again within reach of the 
paper, his nose so near the sheets that at the end 
of every line I feel his warm breath on the back 
of my fingers. He watches my bent head, and 
thinks : 

^^I know very well you are bored, and that you 
brought me with you to distract you. I am very 
happy when you deign to think of me. But do 
you suppose that I am amused! Formerly, I 
played with the cat, on the stairs, under the furni- 
ture, and around the kitchen. Everything smelt 
good all around, and they washed me every morn- 
ing. Here everything is full of coal and bad odors. 
The moving sea makes me dizzy. And then I have 
become the dog of an officer, and cannot go with 
the crews ' pets. What have I done that you should 
exile me? Listen to me, silent master. Speak 
to me." 

The paw stretches out cautiously to the edge 
of my freshly written line. ^^Back, Jimmino I 
You will make a bad blot!" 

The paw draws back. 

*^mh! You are right," the master goes on. 
^^It is late. In a quarter of an hour we shall eat. 
Come up on the bridge. We will take the air." 

I take Jimmino, warm and soft, up on my 
shoulder, where he weighs nothing. He settles 
himself, snuggles against my ear which he tickles. 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 239 

He trembles at my rapid course along tKe cor- 
ridors, up the companion ways, to the height of 
the bridge. 

The twilight is marvelous with its soft and 
delicate shades of color. 

^^What news!'' I say to the officer of the watch. 

*' Nothing. . . . The same old story.'' 

^^Any interesting messages?" 

**NoneI Communiques from Eiffel, Norddeich, 
Poldhu. The cruisers have nothing to say. Go 
read the memorandum." 

I hasten to read the book of telegrams, glancing 
over the hundred or two hundred messages of the 
day. It is the same strain as yesterday, and as 
it will be to-morrow. ^'Left Navaria at 2 p.m.," 
says this one. **I count on finishing coaling this 
evening," says another. *'I am on my way to 
Bizerta," says a third, and so on for four pages. 

^'Well," says the officer of the watch. ^'You 
see there is nothing." 

*^It's queer. The Gamhetta has not spoken 
to-day. ' ' 

'^ There was probably nothing to announce." 

^*It should have signaled its daily position this 
morning. ' ' 

^'Wireless damaged perhaps." 

^^ Perhaps. All the same it has said nothing 
since 9 o 'clock last night. ' ' 

^^Have any of the cruisers called her?" 

**Yes! And she has not responded." 



240 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

*'You are suref 

*'Go and see. I will watch in your place/' 

Five minutes later my comrade returns, after 
running over, examining and considering the four 
pages of messages. 

**You are right,'' he says. *'It is strange. 
However, nothing has happened to her. She 
would always have had time to signal S. 0. S. 
That doesn't take two seconds." 

^* That's true. But all the same, she should 
have replied to the ships that called her. ' ' 

* * She was wrong. We shall see to-morrow. ' ' 

I go down to dinner. On my chair Jimmino, 
crouched like a sphinx, is waiting for bits from 
my meal. Our assembly is not very noisy. We 
comment upon the end of the day, and the doctor 
receives placidly the usual pleasantries. The con- 
versation turns listlessly on Turkish affairs. 
Why is there no animation 1 The officers who are 
going to take the watch rise to put on their uni- 
forms for the night. We greet them in the familiar 
way as they pass out. **A good watch to you, old 
man! Keep your eyes open!" ^' Don't delay 
us!" ^'You know I'm taking the Paris express 
this evening." ^*If you see a submarine try not 
to waken me." **And then," I added, **let me 
know if there is a message from the Gamhetta/' 

^^Why?" 

^'She has not spoken for nearly twenty-four 
hours." 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 241 

* * The deuce ! ' ' murmured the assembly. ^ * What 
has happened to herT' 

The game tables are set up, for dominoes, chess, 
bridge ; the smokers light their pipes ; the readers 
open their paper; others stretch out on the 
cushions. Interpretations are offered concerning 
the silence of the Gambetta, 

*^ Accident to the wireless. . . .'* 

**She had nothing to say. . . .'' 

**She ought to have signaled her daily posi- 
tion. . . .'' 

*^She should have replied when she was called. 

• . • 

^'We shall see to-morrow. ... !" 

The cards fall, the dominoes grate, the news- 
papers crackle, and the pipes pull. All in this 
little world are silent, absorbed in their game, 
their reading or their reveries. But it is appear- 
ance only. Yesterday afternoon we talked with 
the Gamhetta; last night she cruised in the sector 
where we were to go. For twenty-four hours she 
has been silent. In the cards, in the papers, and 
the smoke from the pipes, each one of us reads 
these disquieting thoughts. But no one speaks 
of it. I go to bed, for I have to take the watch 
again in the middle of the night. 

Jimmino trots behind me, installs himself near 
the pillow, and sleeps with a dreamless slumber. 
But I await through the long hours some news of 
the Gamhetta. Eyes closed or open, I cannot 



242 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

escape being haunted by her. All my comrades 
tell me they have passed a sleepless night. 

In the shadow I go np to take the watch. My 
predecessor repeats the sacred phrases. I inter- 
rupt him : 

^^ But the Gamhetta?" 

** Nothing.'' 

'^What do you think of it?" 

** Nothing." 

*'Do you believe that , . . V 

I dare not finish. He dares not answer, but dis- 
appears in the darkness. 

I fix my eyes on this treacherous sea which 
never gives up its secrets. An anguish with iron 
fingers presses my heart. There is no more doubt 
of it, death has passed over one of our brothers. 
Each hour that slips by proves the magnitude of 
the disaster, and if no news ever reaches us, it 
will be because all at one stroke eight hundred 
men will lia/e plunged into the sea. Leaning on 
the rail, I stroke the metal mechanically, and the 
wood and canvas which meet my hand. I enjoy 
feeling the good cruiser, alive and in motion, 
quivering under me. I realize how much I love 
her, and it seems to me, that in order to pierce 
the darkness, my eyes take on the acuteness of 
a father's who scans the face of a child of his 
that is menaced by death. 

A little later our wireless operator sends me 
a bundle of messages. With nervous fingers the 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 243 

ensign translator turns over his codes and dic- 
tionaries in order to transform these ciphers into 
French. Each minute I go to his shoulder to read 
the line, or the half -line, or the word he has tran- 
scribed. Heavens! How long it takes to spell 
out the horror! 

It happened yesterday evening, during that 
fatal watch which I found so beautiful. The moon 
was quite round; the sea was transparent, and 
I saw nothing on it. Like me the officers on watch 
on the Gamhetta were weary of their useless 
vigil ; at the end of their route they saw the gleam 
of the lighthouse at Santa Maria di Leuca. In 
the distance passed the shadows which I should 
have seen if the Waldeck-Rousseau had cruised 
in the sector which it was to have had. These 
shadows were ships going along the Italian coast. 

But another shadow, covered by the water, had 
been on watch for many days. It knew we were 
going by way of the Strait of Otranto. Advised 
by its accomplices, it awaited, motionless, the occa- 
sion for striking a decisive blow. For three 
nights, for four nights, the majestic cruisers 
passed too far from this shadow submarine, from 
this octopus with deadly tentacles. The moon, as 
it approached its full glory, became more and 
more luminous. 

During these splendid hours, when I had almost 
disrobed to feel the caresses of the night near me, 



244 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

the submarine saw approaching a slowly moving 
vessel, with four stacks and graceful outline. It 
made ready, as it had the night before and the 
night before that, and hoped that the ship's 
present route would permit it to cast its death 
thrust. 

What pen could describe this drama in all its 
fullness ? 

On the GambeUa, sailors and officers scanned 
this sea that was almost too bright ; they had seen 
it raging or seething with billows, or tormented 
by the wind, or calmer than a sleeping eyelid. It 
was the ninth month ! Flashes of lightning dazzled 
their eyes, and they moved, like the watchers on 
the Waldeck-Rousseaii, in a confusion of gleams 
and darkness. It was the two hundredth night! 
They were weary. They had waited so long, they 
no longer expected anything. Their eyes met only 
illusion. 

The submarine lay in wait in the bosom of the 
waves. It knew that some time or other its 
wonderful prey would pass within range of its 
torpedo. Through the lens of the periscope its 
commander saw the luminous circle where the 
moon danced, the surface of the mirrored water, 
and the phantoms which move in a night at sea. 
He heard on the submerged hull the lapping of 
the dark waves. All the sailors at their posts 
watched the gesture of his hand and the sound 
of his voice. 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 245 

Suddenly this man's heart began to beat as if 
it would burst. God of death, you were speaking 
in his ear! He had just seen in the funnel of 
his periscope two masts and four stacks. She 
rose in the midst of the lightning flashes, a 
phantom. Tense and still, the man asked himself 
if the vision would approach, or would vanish as 
on the preceding nights. She approached. She 
came, a vagabond, predestined, without knowing 
that a demon was plotting her death. With closed 
lips and moist hands, this man prepared his 
words. Twenty-five men watched him as if he 
were a destroying angel. 

At the given moment he said: ^^Fire!" 

The torpedo left the submarine like a breath 
in the water and as silently. For a few seconds, 
a few endless seconds, it rushed through the echo- 
less water. Two flashes, three flashes, gleamed in 
the sky; the lookouts on the Gamhetta covered 
their faces with their hands. They did not sus- 
pect that this moment, which followed so many 
other moments, held in it the last breath they 
would draw. 

Then a dull sound behind her made the cruiser 
tremble. She was seized with a sudden fever, and 
each of her metal plates resounded. Death spread 
through her limbs and muscles. In through a 
breach in her very heart rushed the dark water, 
leaped and broke everything before it. What hap- 
pened then? 



246 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

I do not know. I do not yet know. But some 
of the messages make it possible to imagine the 
details of the horror. 

Filled with water on her wounded side, the 
Gamhetta lurched toward her sea grave, and the 
sailors who were not killed at once thrust out their 
arms to save themselves. Everything slid around 
them. To stand upright they had to lean over; 
their hands had to serve them for eyes, for dark- 
ness enveloped the cruiser. Naked and silent they 
rushed on toward the deck, but the slanting com- 
panion ways were now as perpendicular as walls. 
How many unfortunates perished in their sud- 
denly interrupted sleep, without realizing that 
their ship was going down for the last time? 

On the deck, a black chaos! Each second the 
cruiser sinks deeper. The gulf of the waves 
grows larger, and each moment perhaps will be 
the final plunge. By main force the sailors launch 
the boats and the cutter, which drop into the 
water wrong side or right side up. The officers 
are calm and have put aside their fatigue; they 
give the necessary orders for the rescue. In the 
sky the two masts and the four stacks sink lower 
and lower. The cruiser, with its apparatus 
damaged, can send out no signal for help, and all 
those who dwell on her plunge into the depths as 
if down a silent stair. 



IN THE IONIAN SEA 247 

A handful of men have been able to enter the 
boats. Chilled, but struggling for life, they have 
taken the oars, and during the last hours of the 
night have rowed towards the friendly lighthouse. 
At the first gleam of day, with bleeding hands, 
but with a marvelous tenacity of will, they have 
made a supreme effort, and the Italian customs 
officers take in sixty exhausted men almost at the 
point of death. 

From Tarentum to Eome, from Eome to Paris, 
from Paris to Malta, and from Malta to the Wal- 
deck-Rousseaii; this story of the drama has been 
traveling for twenty-four hours. The good neigh- 
bor we loved to see in our meetings on the high 
sea has met the death which might have been 
our own. She has disappeared without a word, 
felled at the first stroke in an eddy of the sea, 
as befalls her pilgrims. The wound was muffled 
and dumb, for over there on the horizon I saw 
nothing. One of the flashes that played in the 
sky was perhaps the gleam of the torpedo which 
killed her, but I was deceived by the illusion of 
distance. 

Without mourning or benediction they laid their 
bodies in the cemetery of the sea. From Admiral 
to midshipmen, all the officers are buried in this 
sea, at once so maternal and malevolent. The 
superhuman souls of these officers attempted the 



243 THE VAGABONDS OF THE SEA 

impossible. They wished to save the cruiser, and 
the cruiser went down. They wished to save the 
men, and it is not their fault that nearly eight 
hundred sailors perished. 

And then, according to that law of the sea which 
ordains that the officer shall wait until the last 
sailor is saved, they went down with their ship. 
The ignorant wdll criticize them, but they are 
wrong. If each Frenchman, in civil or military 
service, performs to the uttermost the task his 
country demands of him, his country, with a heave 
of her shoulders, will chase the Germans out of 
France. 

Officers of the Gamhetta, you have your place in 
the paradise of ^'la Revanche/' 



FINIS. 



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